


Merde for Luck

by volleydorkscentral



Series: Merde for Luck - dance!au [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Akaashi is a ballet dancer, Akaashi thinks he's a stalker, Alternate Universe - Dance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bokuto attempts a ballet class and falls on his face, Bokuto falls in love in about .02 seconds, Bokuto has a dang dance crew, Bokuto is a street dancer, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Major Character Injury, and his ass, his knee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 103,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleydorkscentral/pseuds/volleydorkscentral
Summary: Ballet has always been at the center of Akaashi Keiji's life. He'd never wanted anything other than to be on center stage, the crowd before him, standing under the spotlights. He's well on track for this dream until another dancer inserts himself into his life.Bokuto Koutarou is the opposite of a ballet dancer. He'd even venture to say that he didn't have a single graceful bone in his body, if anyone bothered to ask him. But what he did have was passion, and heart, and the simple joy of movement. The moment he sees Akaashi he is enamored, beyond a shadow of a doubt.So now they must figure out if they can dance the perfectpas de deuxor if, like Giselle, they'll both die of broken hearts at the end of ACT I.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yikescaninot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikescaninot/gifts).



> Hey, hey, hey! I hope you all enjoy this dance!au. It promises to be well over 50k, so tuck in your skirts and lace up your pointe shoes! I'm very happy to share this with you, as this piece is very close to my heart. I was a ballet dancer for a long time and I've always wanted to write a piece with ballet. 
> 
> This fic promises to be dance heavy, and therefore it should be music heavy as well. I've made a Spotify playlist with many of the songs I listened to while I wrote this and I plan on mentioning certain songs that you can find on the Spotify playlist.
> 
> It's not required for you to listen to the music while you read, but I whole heartedly recommend it, as the songs sometimes set the mood or the tone of the scene. I'll link the Spotify playlist here, and possibly at the beginning of every chapter? I'm not sure, but let me know if you'd like that as the chapters go on.
> 
> I'd also like to thank @yikescaninot... because she not only helped me plot out and edit this fic, but she's been an invaluable resource of inspiration for me over the course of our short friendship, which I hope will last for years and years to come. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have written as much as I have... nor been so excited about any of it. Truly, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you're amazing, never stop being the wonderful person I've come to know and love. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! I hope to post a new chapter of MfL each Wednesday! So keep an eye out!
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

(Song Selection: _Endless Dream - God is an Astronaut_ )

Akaashi Keiji had always known he was good at dancing. From the moment he was a toddler and his parents put him in dance classes everyone had known he was good, a prodigy, if you will. He spent his days at the studio, practicing relentlessly, ballet and contemporary, working himself to exhaustion and the pleasure that came from burning muscles.

Sometimes, though, his job as a dancer required he do things other than dancing. He’d done magazine shoots for dance magazines, choreographed for a few small movies, and sometimes he even had to get an extra job that he struggled through when he needed spending money. Now, he stood in an alley looking up at the fire escape he was supposed to be climbing onto, wondering why he was doing this particular dangerous favor. Sighing, he dropped his jacket on top his bag, shivering as his bare chest was exposed to the crisp spring air.

The man beside him fiddled with the settings on his camera. "You sure you can do it?"

Akaashi sighed, "My thoughts exactly. I'll try it, though."

"I really, really appreciate it," the man, Kuga, smiled, letting his camera hang around his neck. "If I can get it to come out the way I see it in my head I'm sure I'll get an _A_ for the class.”

"Anything to help. You took my head shots that got me the audition a few months ago and I told you I owed you, didn't I?" Akaashi forced a smile.

Really, it wasn't that this was a _bad_ idea. It just wasn't a very good one.

"Come on, give me a boost," Akaashi said, reaching for the broken ladder overhead. Kuga cupped his hands together and Akaashi stepped into the space his fingers made and was lifted higher so he could grab the edge of the fire escape and haul himself up. He glanced to the ground, _not far, not enough to die. But enough to break something if I fell wrong._

He pushed aside the thoughts of failure, as he had learned to do since his first tentative steps of childhood, and moved towards the edge. Hoisting himself up on the railing, he carefully placed his foot on the widest part of the rail, breathing deep for a few moments while he crouched there, attempting to steady his shaking legs.

When he felt confident that he wouldn't immediately fall over, he released his hands and straightened slowly, arms out for balance. Kuga looked on worriedly from below, camera clutched in his fingers, tense and ready to try to catch him if he fell.

"You okay?"

"Be ready," Akaashi said back, voice level even though his heart was pounding so hard it made his ears thrum. He reached up and touched the top of the fire escape, hooking his fingers in the slats and using the leverage to shift his standing leg so that it supported him fully. His other leg raised slowly behind him, curling into a high _attitude_ so that his thigh was parallel with the ground and his knee bent, foot angled towards the sky, as his back arched just enough to keep his hips from giving out.

One hand left the cold metal, moving to the side, almost as if he were brushing his fingers up his calf. His other hand clutched hard as his heel lifted from the relative safety of the fire escape rail. He stood like that, eyes cast up at the corner of the fire escape, balancing on his toes, feeling like a marionette doll attached to string as his foot inched itself higher and his spine trembled with the effort of staying upright.

His muscles shuddered ever so slightly and he exhaled slowly, releasing his other hand from the slats and letting it drape gracefully just over his head.

"Holy shit," Kuga was muttering, clicking away on the camera, stepping all around trying to find the perfect angle. "Oh my God you're amazing, that's perfect, don't move."

_breathe, breathe, breathe, focus on your focal point, keep your hip over your ankle, you can do it, soft hands, soft gaze, make it look effortless_

Kuga glanced at the LCD and said, "Okay, I got it, thank you!"

Akaashi let out a steadying breath, slowly moving to grab the fire escape and lower his leg, not rushing this last part, then crouching and lowering himself down. Only when his feet were safely back on the flat of the fire escape did he allow himself to draw in a full, deep breath, the stretch of his ribs like a kiss from the heavens. He'd survived, he hadn't fallen twelve feet to bodily harm. He scampered down the broken ladder and dropped to the alley below. "Did you get what you needed?"

Kuga barely looked up, engrossed in his camera. "Yeah. Dude, you look like an angel. Or a demon. I can't decide."

Akaashi laughed, "Gee, thanks."

"No, it's amazing!" Kuga squinted, looking closer at the screen. "Your eyes have such a nice color. Are they green or blue?" He snapped his face up to Akaashi.

"Well, on my birth certificate it says blue but they fool me sometimes, too,” Akaashi said, shrugging into his jacket again and zipping it up so he wasn’t half naked.

"Nice. I bet I can make them look different depending on the edits I do. I'll send you the final product?"

Akaashi shrugged. "I don't care, sure. I'll put it in my portfolio. Good luck, hope you get a good grade."

Kuga waved. "I'll text you!" And he left the alley, camera bag across his chest, muttering to himself.

As Akaashi made to follow him, his duffel bag over his shoulder, a man poked his head from around the corner. "Hey, hey, hey!" The man shouted, face stretched wide in a huge grin.

Akaashi stopped in his tracks, heart jumping into his throat. "Hello."

"That was really awesome! I was walking by and I saw you!" The man was loud, and stepping closer, leaning so Akaashi felt like he was being cornered by his tall spiky dark hair and bleached tips. "You are _really_ pretty."

Not for the first time in his life, Akaashi felt like this might be the precursor to sexual assault. Adrenaline tingled down his spine, his fingers clutching hard at the strap of his bag reflexively. Maybe he could slam it into the man's face and run.

"Are you a dancer?"

Akaashi's mouth was dry, every limb tucking against his body, even his balls tight as he got more and more nervous. "No, I'm a tennis player," he said, voice flat.

The man blinked, then burst out laughing, a hand on his stomach as he wheezed. Akaashi saw a tattoo on the back of his hand, a stark black outline of an owl. "Oh, you're funny! But really, I'm impressed!"

"Mhm-hmm," Akaashi said, mouth tight, inching his way over to the side, trying to get away from this loud man.

The man blinked, cocking his head owlishly, "Are you okay?"

"I have to go to class," Akaashi said quickly, clinging to his bag and turning away, scooting past him and scurrying down the road. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked away, and saw the man watching him, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans. Akaashi turned away, letting out the breath he was holding once he crossed the street and turned at the corner, hoping he'd seen the last of the man and his wild golden-yellow eyes.

 

* * *

 

“Really, I don’t know what to do,” Sugawara said as he and Akaashi walked down the sidewalk, coffee cups clutched in their hands, “I mean I want to audition, of course, but solos are so hard. I’m not good at choreography, either.”

Akaashi sipped his coffee, humming a bit at the warmth as it flooded down his stomach. “I can help you out.”

“Really?” Suga grinned at him. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” Akaashi laughed, “I’m your teacher and your friend. Why wouldn’t I help you?”

“Well…” Suga took a drink of his coffee, looking worried, “We are both auditioning for the same company.”

“So? They take at least three males and six females. We’ll be alright. I promise I won’t be mad even if you make it and I don’t.”

“Oh, like there’s a chance of that,” Suga snorted, jovial in his derision. “You’re better than me by a long shot.”

“They’re looking for more than just tech —”

Someone from across the street yelled so loud that both Akaashi and Suga jerked their heads up to stare, “Hey, hey, hey!!”

Akaashi blinked, squinting in the sunlight across the street to the park and the gaggle of people that stood around on the stairs. Akaashi scowled, thinking that he recognized that voice.

“You’re the pretty little dancer!” the man shouted across the street, waving his arms around wildly, beckoning. “Come dance with us.”

“Oh God,” Akaashi mumbled, grabbing Suga’s sleeve and walking quicker, moving away from the group. “Walk. Walk fast.”

Suga turned his head over his shoulder, craning. “Wait who are they? Do you know them?”

“No, that big weird guy with the spiky hair trapped me in an alley the other day.”

Suga gasped, “No! Did he really? What a creep.”

“Mhm-hmm.”

“Hey!” the man yelled, impossibly loud, “Come back!”

Akaashi muttered, “Shit,” and shoved Suga into a side street to escape. “He freaks me out.”

“What were they doing?” Suga disentangled his arm from Akaashi’s grip, but kept pace with him. “He wanted you to dance with him?”

“I guess they’re dancers. I don’t know, Suga, I don’t know him and I don’t want to know him.”

“Mhm… looked cute from here, though.”

“Shut up.”

“When’s the last time you had a date?”

Akaashi glowered at him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know,” Suga mused, grinning, bumping his hip against Akaashi’s, “If you got out of the studio sometimes, you’d find a date.”

“I don’t want to talk to you about dating.”

“Why, because you know I’m right?”

Akaashi huffed, “Careful, I’m still your teacher. I can make you do _petit allegro_ all day.”

Suga’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh shit, please don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They stepped across the street and Akaashi unlocked the door to the dance studio. It wasn’t his, he didn’t own it, but he was the only teacher other than the owner so Akaashi basically ran the place. The owner, Jun Nakamoto, was a ballroom dancer and teacher so Akaashi took over the ballet classes two years ago when he had failed, yet again, to get into a proper ballet company.

They left their drinks in the lobby and went into the studio to drop their bags off and Suga took the opportunity to check his phone. “Tooru says he’ll be late today.”

“Dammit,” Akaashi mumbled, “Tell your boyfriend he needs to get his shit together. Is he hungover again?”

Suga shrugged, “I dunno. I’m not. We both got pretty drunk last night.”

Akaashi made a face. “It’s Wednesday.”

“So what? Can we only drink on weekends?”

“That’s the assumption for normal people.”

Suga shook his head. “You’re just boring.”

“Go do your warm-ups,” Akaashi snapped, pulling out his flats, “We can practice your audition before everyone else gets here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms:
> 
>  _attitude -_ a position on one leg with the other lifted in back, the knee bent at an angle of 90 degrees and well turned out so that the knee is higher than the foot  
>  _petit allegro -_ lit. small jumps; a series of fast, small jumps containing quick changes in position of the feet. (a/n: disliked by many dancers.... at least in my classes lol)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

Akaashi sat in the floor, nose pressed to his knee, rocking on his thighs in his full split. The stretch was nice, but he needed blocks under his ankles to extend it for a better stretch. He inhaled, closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, shifting his hips to push the stretch even more as much as he could on the flat surface.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

Akaashi raised his face, to see another one directly in his. He yelped and fell backward, wincing as the tendon in his back hip popped when he fell out of his split. “What are you doing here?!”

The man from the alley, from the park, crouched beside him with a wide grin on his face and his big round eyes fixated on him. “Is this where you dance?”

Akaashi narrowed his eyes, and could feel everyone else in the class staring at him and the stranger. “How’d you get here?” He sat up, prickles of fear tingling down the back of his neck. “Get out,” he tried to keep his voice level and the tremor from it.

The man blinked, looking stunned. “Oh, wait. Don’t be scared. I didn’t, like, stalk you or anything.”

Akaashi leaned forward, glaring, tucking one foot under him so he could spring up and kick the man in the head if he needed to. “Leave,” he snapped, then his eyes widened in anger and shock, “Hey! Get your shoes off my floor!”

The man chuckled, “You’re wearing shoes.”

Akaashi lashed out, kicking the man onto his ass and yanking his shoes off with probably more force than was strictly necessary. “You’ve tracked _dirt_ all over my floor.”

“Shit, dude, sorry,” the man grinned, sitting up on his elbows, “My bad.”

Akaashi stood, grabbing the man’s shirt and tried to haul him up. He wouldn’t have been able to had the man not struggled up, socked feet slipping on the hardwood spring floor.

“Get out.”

“Whoah, whoah,” the man said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Can we talk?”

“I’m not in the habit of conversing with stalkers.”

“I’m not a stalker! The name of this place was on your jacket.”

Akaashi frowned, feeling a bit like an idiot. But still he didn’t care, and pushed the man backwards, over his dirt tracks, and out the door. He snapped over his shoulder, “Someone clean that up.”

In the lobby the man took his shoes back and raised one foot at a time to slip his shoes back on. “Look, I didn’t stalk you. I Googled the name of the place on your jacket. I wanted to come ask you on a date.”

Akaashi frowned at him, folding his arms over his chest. “No.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” the man laughed.

“I don’t have to,” Akaashi said coldly.

The man took a deep breath, raising and lowering his hands in a _calm down_ motion, to which Akaashi narrowed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He was calm, dammit.

“Let’s start over. I’m Bokuto Koutarou.” He extended his hand.

Akaashi kept his hands folded, his fingers digging into his biceps. “Why are you here? Please go away.”

Bokuto Koutarou kept his hand extended, his smile growing wider with each passing second until Akaashi finally took his hand. The man’s hand was large and strong, with callouses littering his fingers and palm. It didn’t make Akaashi feel any safer in his presence because he didn’t know where they came from. Fighting? Wielding deadly weapons? Strangling people? Could be anything.

“Cool,” he said, “Now leave.”

“What’s your name?”

Akaashi glared. “Why do you care?”

The man rolled his eyes, but the smile never left his face. “You’re cute. Look,” he rested his fists on his hips, “I’d like to take you on a date.”

“Absolutely not.”

Bokuto balked. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a rather unnerving man who has the tendencies of a stalker.”

Bokuto rolled his eyes with a laugh. “I didn’t stalk you. I Googled you.”

“Same thing,” Akaashi said tersely, “Fine then, I won’t go on a date with you because I’m busy.”

“Busy with what? Surely you’ve got one evening free.”

“I’ve got rehearsals every night.”

“Ballet?” Bokuto scoffed, “Why do you practice so much? It’s easy, right?”

 _That_ wasn’t the right thing to say. Akaashi snarled at him, “It’s not easy, you _ass.”_

“Can’t be that hard,” Bokuto shrugged, “Come on — just one date?”

Akaashi scowled, glancing into the studio where ten sets of eyes were fixed on them. He scoffed, kicked the door closed and turned to point his finger in Bokuto’s face. “I’ll make a deal with you, you imbecile,” he spat the word. He hated people who assumed ballet was easy because it _looked_ easy. Dancers made it look easy, that was the whole point. “If you can take one ballet class from me and _not only_ make it through the whole thing, but also do it without a _single word_ of complaint, then, and only then, will I go on a date with you.” He wasn't worried about having to actually go through with the promise, because he could make it impossible for the man to win the bet. 

Bokuto’s smile was as expansive and bright as a sun. “Deal!”

“Fine. Come back after ten tonight.”

“Oh, we get the date first?” Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows.

“No, that’s when the studio closes. I won’t have you ruin one of my classes with your idiocy.”

Bokuto stuffed his hands in his pockets, a lopsided grin plastered on his face, one shoulder raising higher than the other as he stepped back. “Can do, man. See you later?”

Akaashi sniffed, turning away. “And don’t bring those shoes back into my studio. Bring flat, and wear something appropriate.” He stepped inside the studio and glanced over his shoulder, “Don’t be late,” he said, closing the door in the man’s face.

The other dancers all stood watching him, some with their foot up on the barre or doing floor stretches. Most just standing around, anxious and eager to hear what happened between the stranger and their teacher. He was pleased to see that the dirt had been swept up.

Akaashi swept his gaze around the room, “Well? Barre, now. _Pliés_. You know the combo.” He clicked the remote that controlled the stereo system and played the music that Oikawa had recorded for him for class.

 

* * *

 

_Song Selection: Plié 1 (From "Swan Lake", Op. 20: No. 4 Pas de trois) - Rob Thaller_

Ten o’clock sharp there was a knock on the locked studio door. Akaashi paused his music and went to the door, glancing through the closed blinds before pulling it open. “Right on time.”

“Know what I realized?” Bokuto said as he stepped inside, “You never told me your name.”

Akaashi hummed, looking him over critically. “You aren’t dressed for ballet.”

Bokuto wore tennis shoes, baggy black sweatpants, and a slouchy yellow hoodie with a black owl on it. What was this guy’s thing with owls?

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

Akaashi shook his head, going into the studio but turning and pointing at Bokuto’s shoes. “Off.”

“Yes sir.” Bokuto grinned, kicking them off at the doorway. “Should I just call you _s_ _ir_ from now on? Is that what you like?” He winked and Akaashi blushed, he felt it in his face and could see it in the tall, floor to ceiling mirrors that lined one side of the room.

“Keiji,” he said, “Akaashi Keiji.”

Bokuto smiled and gave a small, sarcastic bow. “Nice to meet you, pretty dancer Akaashi Keiji.”

“We’ll start with stretches,” Akaashi said, “Small ones, just to get your muscles warmed up. Then we’ll do barre. More stretching, center work, floor work, final stretches. If you can make it through the entire class without complaining —”

“I’ve already got our date planned,” Bokuto grinned, tugging up his pants and rolling them up to his knees, then shedding the hoodie to reveal a gray t-shirt.

“We’ll see,” Akaashi snorted.

Akaashi took him through warm up stretches and saw exactly what he expected. Bokuto wasn’t flexible, but he was coordinated. At the barre, Akaashi began to explain the feet positions.

“First: heels touching, toes making a straight parallel line. Turn out your legs, not just your feet, or you’ll kill your knees,” Akaashi explained, then when Bokuto tried to copy him: “No, turn _out_. Don’t just stand like you’re on the subway.”

Bokuto looked down at his legs, arm out to his side in a botched first position. “What’s wrong? Wait, how do I do that? Turn what?”

Akaashi crouched beside him. “Point your toe.”

“Eh?”

“Just do it, I’ll show you how to turn out.”

Bokuto pushed one foot forward and Akaashi took his foot and pointed his toes, bending his foot at the arch and pushing his toes down to a clean line. He inched forward, tucking Bokuto’s leg over his shoulder and turning his thigh out, running a hand down his knee. “See? Turn out from your hip and the rest of your leg will follow.” He gripped Bokuto’s muscles, pulling and pushing his leg so that it was straight and his foot was pointed.

Bokuto mumbled, making a pained sound as Akaashi held him there. Akaashi looked up, unable to hide the smirk on his face. “Oh? What was that?”

“Nothing…” But his face was pinched with pain.

Akaashi smirked and stood. “Alright. _Pliés_. It’s a bend of the knees, legs turned out from the hips. All ten toes and heels stay on the floor for _demi_. The point of this exercise is to build resistance and pliability, so don’t just bend, but work the muscles.” As he spoke, Akaashi demonstrated, his left hand barely brushing the barre, his other arm moving through the motions. To the side, hovering just in front of his belly button, up to his chest, arm nice and round. The backs of his knees touched when he stood straight, the arches of his feet made a straight line with his toes. “And when you go into a _grande_ don’t just drop down like a slob, lower yourself slowly, evenly, only raising your ankles at the last possible moment.” He did so, his right arm rising over his head, then to the side as he rose back up, “Then _rélevé_ , arms go up to fifth, hold for a two count, lower, _tendu_ , and turn. Back to first.”

He looked over his shoulder at Bokuto’s slightly slack face.

“Got it?”

Bokuto blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, easy.”

Smirking, Akaashi clicked the remote to play the piano music. “Here we go, then.” He waved his hand to the beat, then talked Bokuto through the steps, “And, bend, up, arm round, like you’re holding a beach ball, and up, your toes— watch your toes. Don’t roll forward on your arches.” He stood behind Bokuto, touching the curve of his spine, pressing his hips to be even over his ankles. “Don’t push your hips out, straighten your spine. Thighs go out when you _grande plié_.” He touched Bokuto’s shoulders as he lowered himself, then nearly fell over when Bokuto himself toppled backwards at the base of the bend.

Akaashi stumbled to the side, frowning at Bokuto sprawled on the floor. He paused the music. “Come on, get up.”

“Sorry,” Bokuto mumbled, “Never done that before.”

“Do it again. Other side. No, do the _rélevé_ , turn, and go again on the eight count.” Akaashi played the music, counting it out, walking him through the steps again, until he did it right. “Now, we’ll do this again in second, fourth, and fifth positions.”

“Do what now?”

Akaashi demonstrated: “Second position, same as first, just feet hip width apart. For the _grande_ in second your ankles never leave the floor, got it? Thighs will be parallel to the floor. For fourth, feet should be about a foot’s width apart, one in front of the other, turned out so that the toes line up with the ankle of the opposite foot. Fifth,” he paused, snickering as he placed his feet to demonstrate, “I don’t think you can do. It’s the same position as fourth, but thighs zipped together and feet touching, toe to ankle.”

Bokuto stared at his feet in fifth position. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt me. It should hurt you, though.” Akaashi couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “Alright, _pliés_ , each side, second, fourth, fifth. Balance in _rélevé_ for four counts, then turn and finish back in your starting position.”

They went through the combinations, Akaashi stopping periodically to correct Bokuto’s positions. The entire combination took over double the time it should have, and really Akaashi shouldn’t have been so nitpicky, but he wanted to prove a point. By the time they were done, Bokuto’s legs were trembling and Akaashi had a smile on his face.

“Not bad,” he said, “Not great. That was just step one.”

“Mhmm…” Bokuto hummed, kicking his leg to stretch it out, pulling his ankle up to his butt and wincing. “What’s step two?”

“The order of barre is as follows: _plié, battement tendu, battement dégagé, ronde de jambe à terre, battement frappé, rond de jambe en l’air_ , and _grand battement._ ” With each move, he demonstrated, showing the slow warming and stretching of muscles. Ballet tended to start from the floor and work it’s way up. _Tendus_ to warm and stretch the feet and ankles, _ronde de jambes_ to begin to flex the knee, _dégagé_ to begin to work the leg and hip socket, _battements_ to work more fully the idea of each joint working together, and prepare the rest of the body for center work. _Grande battement_ was the final culmination, the full legged kick to the front, side, and back that warmed up the spine and worked the core, and reminded dancers that ballet is not only beauty, but also power and strength.

“We do each move in each position, both sides, until we are properly warmed up and ready for center work.”

Bokuto stared, leaning against the barre, looking confused and frustrated. “Uh… you’ll go over them again, right?”

Akaashi laughed, “Of course. I’m the teacher, it’s my job to teach.”

As they worked through the barre exercises, Akaashi was able to watch the frustration build on Bokuto’s face as the crease between his brows deepened, and sweat began to dampen the roots of his hair, but he didn’t say anything other than the occasional question or comment on how good Akaashi’s ass looked in his tights and skintight shorts, which Akaashi ignored.

They did center work, more difficult variations of the barre exercises, done with no balance help from the barre and often times with movements that were higher, slower, or moving across the floor. Bokuto fell over twice when he tripped doing _pas de bourrées_ , and once when his sock didn’t catch right on the hardwood and he fell hard onto his knee.

Akaashi crouched in front of him, touching his knee gently. “This is why I told you to bring flats.” He prodded the bright red mark, knowing the exact color bruise it would form in the morning, he’d had enough bruises precisely like this to know.

Bokuto sighed, leaning on his hands and watching Akaashi. Sweat pooled under his arms and on his chest, stained the spine of his t-shirt. He was panting and out of breath, but he was smiling. “I don’t own flats. Whatever those are.”

Akaashi chuckled, “They’re dance shoes. They have enough grip to keep you from slipping, but also give you enough friction for turns and steps.”

“Sounds helpful.”

“They are,” Akaashi laughed, then stood, extending a hand, “One last thing — come on.”

Bokuto took his hand and pulled himself up. “Oh?”

“Across the floor combination. Just the one, we’ll see how you do.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened at the smirk on Akaashi’s lips. “Oh God, what are we doing?”

Akaashi stepped towards the corner, his hands making the movements his legs would mimic when he danced, his tone bouncing to the tune of imagined music, “This is the combination: _sous-sous entrechat-six, sous-sous, entrechat-six. Tombé pas de bourrée,_ step through to fifth, straight up into a _double_ _tours_. Find your balance, check your feet position. And — again — _tombé pas de bourrée, glissade, sissonne, pas de bourrée - triple pirouette_ to the knee.”

He looked at Bokuto, eyebrows raised. “I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that you will fail, it’s a difficult combination, but we practiced the _pas de bourrée_ , the _petit allegro,_ the jumping turns, the _pirouettes_. I have faith that you can attempt this, at least.”

Bokuto’s face showed his concentration as he thought. “I want to try it. Can you show me?”

“Of course,” Akaashi smiled, pleased with Bokuto’s determination. He clicked the stereo over to the correct music and handed the remote to Bokuto when it was playing. “You can hear the place you start, yes? Five, six, seven, eight…” He performed the combination, unable to resist the urge to show off a bit. The small jumps in the beginning were flashes of feet, his _double tours_ spun high and fast, like a figure skater in the air. One of his favorite jumps, _sissonne_ , like a scissor kick but beautiful. _Triple pirouette,_ and finishing by dropping to a knee at the end.

Bokuto watched this with mouth agape. Then he applauded, grinning. “That was amazing!”

Akaashi smiled to himself, _dammit if he didn’t love that sound_ , then took the remote from Bokuto’s fingers. “Your turn. We’ll do it from the right and the left, eight times. I’ll do it with you, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Bokuto nodded, staring at his feet as he tried to copy the starting fifth position. He couldn’t get his feet to touch, and it clearly pissed him off by the way he glared at his feet.

“We’ll do the first one together. Ready?” Akaashi played the music. “Hear the pacing? Five, six, seven, eight…”

Bokuto did not do well. Not only because he didn’t know the steps, but he couldn’t jump very high nor make his legs do even a semblance of what they were supposed to. Akaashi had expected this, though, and didn’t fault him for knowledge he didn’t have.

At the end of the first set, when Akaashi rose from the ending position, Bokuto was chewing his lip with frustration. “Can we do it again?”

Akaashi nodded. “Of course.”

“Until I get it?”

He hesitated, saying gently,  “It’s a very difficult combination…”

“Show me.”

“… Alright. Okay, so, you can do the _entrechat-six_. Just jump straight up and make your feet change position in mid air. Like this.” He moved his hands over each other, swapping the top and bottom one quickly. “Easy. Just with your feet. You can do the _pas de bourrée_ , just sink lower into your _demi plié._ ”

Bokuto tried each step individually, even _tombé_ , which was just stepping into a _demi plié_ on one leg in order to spring off it to gain momentum and traction for the next step. He never quite got the _sissonne_ jump, but Akaashi had struggled with it for months when he had first learned it, too.

One thing that surprised Akaashi, though, was that Bokuto was able to consistently do three _pirouettes_.

They weren’t clean, his arm position was all wrong, his toe didn’t touch his knee, and he did them way too fast since he put all his power into the take off, but he did them.

After he had done the combination well over sixteen times, eight on the left and eight on the right, plus many more for practice, Akaashi announced class over, and gave him a perfunctory stage bow in appreciation of a job well done.

Bokuto immediately collapsed to the floor and threw his arms spread eagle, moaning loudly, “Thank _Gooooood.”_

Akaashi laughed, standing over him with a hand on his hip. “Ballet is easy, huh?”

“I apologize. Really,” Bokuto laughed, breathless, wiping his face with his t-shirt. “But you know what this means, right?”

“Mhm?”

“You have to go on a date with me.”

Akaashi blinked, thinking back over class and sighing. It was true. Bokuto had never said a single word of complaint — not aloud, anyway. “Fine,” he said, acquiescent, “Just one. And it can’t be on a day when I’m rehearsing.”

“When are you not?” Bokuto looked at him upside down from the floor. His hair had started to fall from it’s spikes from sweat, and locks of it plastered to his forehead.

“I can make time … Saturday evening.”

Bokuto sat up, stumbling to his feet and wincing at the ache of his muscles. “Okay. Here, gimme your number and I’ll call you.” He pulled his phone from a pile of his things at one corner of the room and typed on his phone for a moment, then entering Akaashi’s number when he grudgingly gave it to him. He smiled when it was officially in his phone, proud of himself. “Don’t look so glum, chum,it’ll be fun.”

Akaashi chuckled, “I hope so.” He was impressed with how hard Bokuto had worked, and found himself drawn to the man in a way he hadn’t been before. He liked determination, and if Bokuto had anything going for him it was that.

“Ah, wait, there’s one more part of class. I mean, technically.”

“Oh?”

Akaashi smirked, “Before your muscles cool down, we need to stretch _really_ well.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened in fear, and he took several inching steps backwards. “Uh, no thanks. I’m —”

A knock at the door made them both turn sharply to stare. A tall, lithe man leaned on the doorframe, black hair wild, looking bored and put out. “Bokuto,” the man said, his voice deep and calm, the exact opposite of Bokuto’s excitable pitch. “Time to go.”

Akaashi glanced at his watch. “Oh, I hadn’t realized the time. It’s just past midnight. You really should go.”

Bokuto looked relieved to have escaped the dangers of _stretching_. “I’ll call you,” he grinned, picking up his shoes and jacket, “We’ll figure out a time. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Bokuto followed the taller man out to the lobby while he put his shoes on and Akaashi overheard his loud voice say, “Kuroo, you didn’t have to come get me. We were done anyway.”

“You said you’d be ‘only like ten minutes’ and that was two hours ago,” the taller man countered, mimicking Bokuto’s voice too well.

Akaashi pretended to not listen, looking in the mirror at his feet and practicing his _tendus_ , but keeping the two men in his sight in the edge of the mirror.

“I didn’t realize it’d take so long. Sorry.”

“We’ve got shit to do.”

“I know, I know.” Bokuto straightened, kicking the floor to adjust his shoe. He looked back to the studio and caught Akaashi’s eye in the mirror and grinned, winking. Akaashi jerked his eyes away, blushing.

“Come on, you big idiot,” Kuroo said, then he turned to leave, Bokuto followed him, and they vanished into the night.

Akaashi waited until he was sure they were gone, then locked the door and turned off the external lights, and closed himself into the privacy of the studio. He turned the music to the song that Sugawara had chosen, composed by Oikawa. He spent another hour choreographing the steps that he thought would make the best of Suga’s talents. Suga was good at _adagios_ : long, slow, fluid movements like flowing water — and he had the balance and the strength to pull off high _arabesques_ and slow turns that many dancers could not.

It was nearly two in the morning when he locked the door behind him, and as he walked towards home he took out his phone and saw that Bokuto had texted him: _i had fun tnte… srry i botched it. u r vry beautiful to watch, i was distracted_

Akaashi bit his lip, trying not to smile at his phone like an idiot. He tried to leave it alone, but his fingers typed before his brain could keep up: _I had fun, too. You weren’t that bad._

_you think so?_

_You just need to practice. Maybe another class?_

_god no that shits hard_

_Told you._

_u did! im plan good shit for sat_

_I look forward to it._

They texted for the entire time it took Akaashi to walk home, not long, he only lived about fifteen minutes from the studio, and by the time he was inside Bokuto had texted: _gotta go. ttyl! rlly, don’t forget about sat_

Akaashi stripped his shirt off, flicking on the shower to heat up. _I won’t forget. I promise._

And, as he plugged his phone in on the nightstand to charge and stepped into the steaming shower, he actually decided that he was looking forward to the date. It had been years since he’d been on a real date, and he’d never had a proper boyfriend before …

But, he was getting ahead of himself. He would set aside all thoughts of _boyfriends_ until after Saturday, at least. Afterwards… maybe he could revisit the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty term heavy... so apologies for that, but if you're overwhelmed reading it, just imagine how overwhelmed Bokuto was! ◕‿◕
> 
> Glossary of Terms:
> 
> attitude - a position on one leg with the other lifted in back, the knee bent at an angle of 90 degrees and well turned out so that the knee is higher than the foot  
> petit allegro - lit. small jumps; a series of fast, small jumps containing quick changes in position of the feet. (a/n: disliked by many dancers.... at least in my classes lol)
> 
> turn out - rotation of the leg at the hips which causes the knees and feet to turn outward and to the side
> 
> Feet Postitions:  
> first - dancer stands with heels touching, toes facing equally out to either side  
> second - same as first, just with feet hip width apart  
> fourth - one foot in front of the other, about a foot's distance apart; both feet equally turned out, lining the toes of the front foot with the heel of the back  
> fifth - fourth position, with legs zippered together so that the toes of the front foot nearly touch the heel of the back foot and vice versa; difficulty of this position is keeping proper turn out and straight legs  
> Barre:  
> plié - a bend of the knee, usually as a preparation for another step  
> battement tendu - gradually extending the foot to the front, side, or back, pressing from flat foot, through the ball of the foot (demi-pointe) and to where only the toes touch the floor; common abbreviation is simply: tendu  
> rélevé - raising onto the balls or toes of the feet (demi or pointe)  
> battement dégagé - the foot of the working leg sharply brushes through the floor through tendu pointed in the air 45 degrees or lower; commonly: dégagé  
> battement frappé - brushing a flexed foot and striking the floor with the ball of the foot through dégagé  
> grande battement - a straight legged kick from the floor to the front, side, or back  
> rond de jambe - Half-circle made by the pointed foot, from fourth front or back through second position to the opposite fourth and returning through first position again to repeat, in effect tracing out the letter "D." Starting front going back is called rond de jambe en dehors while starting back and going front is called rond de jambe en dedans.  
> rond de jambe à terre - The extended leg with pointed toe remains on the ground to sweep around in a semi-circle.  
> rond de jambe en l'air - The leg is lifted and sustained to the side (à la seconde), with movement being limited to below the knee. If the thigh is held at 90 degrees from the body, the toe draws a circle approximately between the knee of the supporting leg and second position in the air. If the thigh is held lower (e.g. 45 degrees), the circle is drawn to the calf of the supporting leg.  
> pas de bourrée - quick, even steps that give the appearance of gliding  
> sous-sous - a rise in tight fifth position  
> Centre:  
> entrechat - a jump of beating in which the dancer jumps into the air and rapidly crosses the feet in front and behind; (six) - three changes of the feet are made in the air, ultimately changing which foot is in front  
> tombé - the action of falling into a plié, typically as a lead into another step  
> tour en l'air - A jump, typically done by males, with a full rotation in the air. (double tour is a 720* rotation)  
> glissade - A traveling step starting in fifth position from demi-plié. The leading foot brushes out to dégagé as weight bears on the trailing leg, weight is shifted to the leading leg via a jump and the trailing foot extends out of plié into degagé. The leading foot lands tombé and the trailing foot slides in to meet the leading foot in fifth position demi-plié.  
> sissonne - a jump from two feet to one foot  
> pirouette - A non-traveling turn on one leg, of one or more rotations, often starting with one or both legs in plié and rising onto demi-pointe or pointe.  
> arabesque - a body position in which a dancer stands on one leg (the supporting leg) with the other leg (the working leg) extended, straight, behind the body 
> 
> (I don't think the other chapters will be quite as term heavy, but they will be sprinkled throughout the story, and I'll add new ones as they appear)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

Suga leaned over Akaashi, grinning. “Who was he?”

“I already told you,” Akaashi said, bowing his head lower into his stretch, elbows on the floor and his legs out to the side, “He’s no one and I’m not talking about it.”

“He’s cute,” Suga said, sitting in front of him, mirroring his posture and stretching as well, leaning his chin in his hand as he rocked forward. “I saw him walking towards the studio as we left last night.”

“You let him come and didn’t even call to make sure I wasn’t murdered? Some friend you are.”

Suga laughed. “Come on. Tell me.”

Akaashi sat up, rolling his hips out and flexing his feet. “What do you want to know? He stalked me to the studio, begged me to go on a date with him, took a ballet class, and now we’re going on a date Saturday evening.”

Blinking, Suga sat up. “What?! You’re going on a date?”

“We made a bet that he couldn’t make it through a ballet class without whining. But he did it.”

A smile spread on Suga’s face. “Oh my God, really? Was he any good?”

“Absolutely awful. It was hilarious.”

Suga laughed, “I wish I had seen it. So, where are you going? Dinner and a movie?”

“I don’t know… he didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, that’s adorable.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “You like him so much, you go on the date.”

Suga pointed at him, saying sternly, “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Akaashi looked up when movement at the door caught his eye. “Speak of the devil.” Oikawa Tooru stepped into the studio, violin case in hand, looking pleasantly rumpled, like he’d just rolled out of bed with perfect hair. 

Suga leaned forward on his hips, pushing his legs through middle split and leaning into a snake like back bend. “My boyfriend is an angel.”

Oikawa looked over as if sensing his name being spoken. “Hey, baby,” Oikawa said, coming over and running his fingers through Suga’s hair. “Talking about me?”

Suga smiled up at him, like a puppy in love. “Always.”

Akaashi made a face. “You two disgust me,” he said it with love, though. Oikawa and Suga had gone through months of flirting and skirting around their love and it had been a godsend when they finally went on a date. It stopped the mutual pining, but it didn’t stop the over exaggerated flirting.

“Feeling better after your hangover?” Akaashi asked, only a little sarcastically.

Oikawa grinned at him, wholly genuine when he replied, “Mhm-hmm, much. Thank you.”

“Listen to this,” Suga said, pulling his legs back around and leaning against Oikawa’s legs. “Our teacher has a date tomorrow.”

“What?” Oikawa gasped, dropping to his knees so he could be closer, reaching out to take Akaashi’s hand and clutch at it. “I’m _so proud_ of you! Do you have condoms?”

Akaashi yanked his hand away in feigned disgust, trying not to laugh. “Oh my God, shut up.”

“It’s safe, sane, and consensual in this house, Keiji, nothing else.”

Akaashi tried to control his face, but he felt it morphing into what his mother called his _geh face_. It frustrated him when he felt it because he knew it wasn’t the best orientation of his features. He tucked his legs under him and stood. “I’ve been working on your piece, Suga. Oikawa, that track you gave me is the most current version of your composition for him, right?”

“I changed it a bit, but I can play it for you. Make you an updated recording.” Oikawa might be a flirtatious bastard, but he was also a serious composer, and knew when to stop goofing around and work. It was one thing that Akaashi liked about him.

_(Song Selection: Zigeunerweisen, Op. 20: Lento - Pablo de Sarasate)_

“Play it,” Akaashi said as he moved to the center of the room. Oikawa took up his instrument and tucked it against his chin, placed the bow on the strings, and began a low, slow adagio that hummed in the air and tugged the heartstrings. Suga stood watching Oikawa, the loveliest of smiles on his face, absolutely enamored at Oikawa’s form: rocking ever so gently with his music, eyes closed, looking like he’d grown his soul from the sounds of music.

Akaashi went through the steps in his mind, walking over the floor as the he tested them, pausing when he heard the change in the music and adjusting the choreography in his head. Oikawa had wrote the piece for Sugawara, had composed it while they fell in love, and Suga had told Akaashi that he wanted to make a piece to show Oikawa how much he loved him back.

Suga and Akaashi had worked on the piece together, Suga choosing his steps with care, but unable to connect them together. Akaashi was there only to connect it, to make the steps flow with the music.

When Oikawa lowered his violin, Suga stepped over and kissed his cheek, trailing his fingers gently down the back of his neck. “You play so beautifully…”

Oikawa smiled back at him, the two of them so obviously in love it hurt. “Only because I’m thinking of you.”

Akaashi waited patiently while they exchanged these little lines of love, knowing it was futile to try and stop them.

Suga brushed his fingers over Oikawa’s cheek as he stepped away and flitted over to Akaashi. “So? Where do we start?”

Akaashi shook his head, not bothering to hide the smile. “Well, what you were doing was good. Start in a fifth position _élevé_ ,” he demonstrated, and unlike Bokuto, Suga did it right alongside him, “And take the first few beats of the music to breathe with it. Follow the arch of his bow, move your arms open and closed…”

Suga did it while Akaashi watched, nodding. “Yes, lovely. And your _arabesques_ are good, so turn out, mhm-hmm, step through to fourth and do it. Hold there, let your arm float, and slowly lower into a _penché_.”

He didn’t have to say it, Suga knew how to make his body look fluid even while standing still, one leg extended behind him while he balanced on one toe. As he breathed, he let his fingers dance on the air, and as they both heard the music in their heads, his leg raised higher, above his head, as his chest lowered.

He kept his eyes on Oikawa the whole time, and Akaashi felt a twinge of the love that they shared, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Now, bring your body _in_ , fold in on yourself, stay on your working leg though, _coupé_ , then bounce up into a side _jeté_ , landing on the same foot.”

He did the steps, then continued them, not needing Akaashi for a moment as he let his body do the thinking. His body knew how to move, knew what it was capable of, and Akaashi watched with a smile as he worked.

Suga was a dancer with an intimate knowledge of _lines_ : the knowledge of the entire body and how it looks while performing the steps, from the tilt of the head, the shape of the eyes, the curve of the fingertips, bend of the spine and the point of the toes. He also had exceptional balance, and was able to hold a high _arabesque_ , while turning slowly, as if a pole was attached to his standing leg and someone simply spun him around in a slow, graceful turn.

Akaashi couldn’t do that, not well, and it made him watch Suga all the harder, trying to absorb his talent.

They worked for half an hour, Oikawa occasionally playing pieces that one of the dancers would ask for, and Suga working through his choreography. Akaashi only occasionally gave advice or suggested a step or an adjustment and as the rest of the class began to arrive, first Kiyoko, then Alisa, Ennoshita and Shirabu. Akaashi told Suga, “I don’t think you need my help. It looks wonderful so far.”

Suga pushed a hand through his hair, watching the floor as if he could see the steps being done. He could — they all could, imagining what a dance would look like was like second nature to them. “Maybe… I just want it to be perfect. I want… It’s not just for the audition, y’know?” He glanced at Akaashi, then Oikawa. “It’s for him, too.”

“I know.” Akaashi touched his arm. “You have the ability to dance with your heart, not just your body. If you do that, it will be perfect.”

Suga smiled, “Thanks, Keiji. That means a lot coming from you.”

In truth, Akaashi didn’t know exactly how one _danced from the heart_. It had never made sense to him… but he knew Suga was one of those dancers that believed it and would get encouragement from him saying it. “You’re welcome. Rest a bit until class starts, okay? I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

Suga snorted a laugh, “Says you Mr. _Never Leaves the Studio_.”

“That’s not a very good name.” Akaashi waved his hand, stepping out of the studio to get a drink of water before he started class.

 

* * *

 

Saturday came and Akaashi found that he was actually _nervous_. It had been so long since he’d been on a date, almost two years, and he wasn’t sure if the protocol had changed. Bokuto hadn’t told him what they were doing or where they were going so he wasn’t sure what he should wear.

So he spent most of the morning agonizing over that, then stretching out his frustration when he couldn’t decide, and pacing back in forth in front of his closet for much too long before he decided on _simple_. Jeans. Button-up. Light jacket.

Done.

He dressed, wearing blue because his last boyfriend-not-boyfriend had told him it brought out the color of his eyes, and stood in front of his mirror, heart pounding away in his chest. God, was this a bad idea?

His phone buzzed and he snatched it up, wondering if Bokuto was canceling the date and panicking at the thought of it.

_hey hey hey! still comin over?_

His fingers hovered over the screen, unsure, scared, nervous, excited.

_You never actually told me where we’re going._

Bokuto was quick to respond, the three little dots making Akaashi’s mouth go dry.

_shit rlly? ill snd u my addrss. just put it in google its easer tht way_

A few moments later an address appeared and when Akaashi checked it on the map he realized he could walk there. It wasn’t too far, but it would be a long enough walk that if he changed his mind halfway there he could double back and go to the studio instead.

So, as evening fell, he left his apartment and trekked across the city with small, wireless headphones in to drown out the fear in his head. Each step made his heart thud harder and butterflies flip up into his stomach. He was never this nervous, even before a performance. When he found the house, a two story suburban with a big backyard, he stopped at the sidewalk and double checked the number.

It was correct. This was it. He took a deep breath and said to himself, “Stop it. You won’t be murdered. It might even be nice.” As he walked up the steps his chest trembled with fear and nerves and he had to make a conscious decision to breathe, just like in practice: _in, out, in, out, slow, even, calm._

The door was yanked open and Bokuto stood there, arms wide and smile on his face. “Akaashi! You found it.” He wasted no time, dropping his arm around a stunned Akaashi and steering him inside then kicking the door closed with his foot. “Glad you’re here! Wow, right on time. I’m impressed. I’ve sent Kuroo and the others downstairs and told them they can’t come back up!”

Taking the headphones from his ears and placing them in their case, Akaashi blinked around. The house was clearly meant for an entire family and, if the amalgamation of everyday objects was any indicator, many people lived here. Or at least spent a lot of time here. Jackets and shoes were thrown haphazardly, there was a large television on a gaming center with several consoles underneath in a tangle of wires and cords. A thumping vibrated his shoes, seemingly from a loud stereo from underneath the floor.

“How many people live here?” Akaashi asked, “We’re not displacing them are we?”

Bokuto raised an eyebrow. “No, they’re in the basement. They’re fine. Technically only me and Kuroo live here, but there’s always other people here too. You can meet them later, if you want. Come on, come on.” He pulled Akaashi to the kitchen, where he had set up a number of bowls and plates with various foods. “I’m making you katsudon!”

Akaashi laughed softly, “Are you really?”

“Yeah! Good luck for us, right?” Bokuto beamed down at him, his arm still comfortably in place around Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Er…” Akaashi felt his face growing hot, “Sure.”

Bokuto leaned close, their faces almost touching. “Want to help?”

Akaashi glanced at him, but was unable to meet his gaze for long. “You’re the one that started this whole date thing so…” He looked back, held captive by those big, golden eyes flecked with amber. “Impress me.”

Bokuto’s smile broadened. He touched their noses together, and Akaashi’s heart beat like a rabbit’s, fast and fluttery. Then Bokuto pulled away, his arm sliding across Akaashi’s shoulders as he walked across the small kitchen, stopping to press a button on a rice cooker. “So. Tell me about yourself, pretty little dancer.”

Akaashi picked up a shoe from a nearby stool and placed it on the floor so he could perch on it. He noticed that maybe he had over dressed, seeing as how Bokuto was barefoot and in gym shorts and a tank top. It was tight on his body, too small really, but Akaashi wasn’t complaining, it left nothing underneath to the imagination, and the definition of his chest, calves, and thighs was good enough to eat even without the upcoming prospect of dinner.

“Don’t call me that,” Akaashi said, “But what do you want to know?”

Bokuto grinned over his shoulder, fingers dirty with flour and panko. “How old are you?”

Akaashi leaned on the counter, chin in his hand. “You pursued me even though you’ve no idea how old I am? I could be a teenager.”

“You’re not a teenager,” Bokuto laughed, “You’re older than twenty but I don’t think you’re thirty. As long as you’re not a baby or decrepit I don’t care.”

“You’re strange.”

“I’m twenty four, if that helps.”

Akaashi laughed despite himself, “I’ll be the same in a few months.”

“Oh, cool! That’s good — oh shit.” He had dropped a piece of pork on the wrong plate, and had to double dredge it in egg wash and breading. “More for me, then! What else do you do, besides dance?”

Akaashi didn’t understand. “Why would I do anything else?”

Bokuto turned to frown at him. “Wait, you don’t have any sort of job?”

“Teaching is my job, for now. Why, what’s your job?”

Bokuto shrugged. “Uh… I don’t have one, as of last week,” he smiled wryly, “Got fired cause I kept forgetting to show up. My bad.”

Akaashi shook his head. “You should be more responsible.”

“Pffft, now, now, let’s not go there.” He turned, pointing his dirty finger at Akaashi. “What do you aspire to be, then?” He stepped to the sink to wash his hands.

Akaashi let out a wistful sigh. “I want to be a real dancer.”

“You are a —”

“I mean… I want to be a principal in the London Royal Opera House or Opéra National de Paris. Or even the New York ballet. Somewhere that travels across the world, if I can. I think to see the world from the backstage of the most beautiful theaters would be a great way to see it, don’t you?”

Bokuto smiled at him. “I suppose so. How does one get into a place like that?”

“You have to be scouted or audition. It’s … extremely difficult. I’ve been trying since I was fifteen…” he lowered his eyes, suddenly not liking the turn of the conversation, “Never made it in.” He paused, then tried to change the subject: “What were you doing in the park?”

“Hm?” Bokuto was distracted, pouring oil into a pan and turning the handle of the burner, squinting at the tiny flame that burst to life under the pan. “Is this good?”

Akaashi slid off the stool and came around to peer at it as well. “Mhm… I think so? What does the recipe say?”

Bokuto pulled his phone from his pocket and read something on the screen. “Uh… medium high until it’s hot, then quick fry, then lower it to medium low when you cook the other stuff.”

Akaashi shrugged. “Looks fine to me.”

“Great! Go sit, go sit,” he actually _shoo-ed_ Akaashi backwards, “What got you into dancing?”

“No,” Akaashi held up a finger, grinning as he leaned on the counter. “You tell me first. What were you and your friends doing at the park?”

“Oh, yeah, we dance too!”

“I thought so,” Akaashi smiled, “Not good dancing, but some form of dancing.”

“Hey now, my dancing is good!”

“You can show me someday. I noticed you had better coordination than I thought you would. How are your muscles, by the way?”

“Dude, I couldn’t walk yesterday,” Bokuto laughed a big round laugh, “I was couch ridden!”

“Were you now? You _sure_ ballet isn’t easy?”

“I take it back, I take it back.” Bokuto held up his hands in surrender. “Seriously. I respect what you do so much more.”

“Good.” Akaashi nodded, leaning his head around to watch as Bokuto dropped the first pork cutlet into the oil.

And all hell broke loose.

It popped loudly, sizzling high in their ears. Bokuto yelped and stepped back, yanking his arm away and waving his hand in pain. A flame jumped to life, sucking oxygen from the air in a dangerous _woosh_ ing sound. It’s fingers reached high, halfway to the ceiling. The frying oil screamed it’s displeasure at them as the fire climbed ever higher.

Bokuto shoved his arm out, pushing Akaashi behind him for safety as he grabbed a sheet pan and slid it swiftly but carefully over the pan until the fire was suffocated. He turned immediately to Akaashi, voice high with worry, “Are you alright?”

“Are you?” Akaashi gasped, reaching for his hand and pulling it towards himself. “You got burned.” Bokuto had small red spots on his skin where too hot oil had popped up and seared him.

Bokuto smiled. “Aw, you care so much, thank you. I’m fine, I promise.” He turned his hand, curling his fingers over Akaashi’s.

“Oh… good.” Akaashi muttered, blushing again and hating his blood vessels for betraying him so. Bokuto smiled, squeezing gently, about to speak, when —

The lights flickered out with another loud pop, but the light from the rice cooker remained — since it was currently on fire.

“Shit!” Bokuto screamed, yanking the plug from the wall then turning and leaping over the counter. He ran to the living room to snatch a heavy blanket from the couch and bolted back to throw it over the machine, effectively smothering the fire underneath it. He panted, eyes wide, turning his head to stare at Akaashi. “I fucked up.”

Akaashi laughed in the space of the silence, dropping his head and rubbing his hands over his face. “Oh my God. You’re a terrible cook!”

Bokuto slumped a little, looking distraught. “I thought I could —”

 _“Bo!”_ the tall man that had picked up Bokuto from the studio slammed open a door in the hallway. “What the fuck did you do?”

Bokuto groaned and slid to the floor, knocking his head into the cabinet. “I fucked up, bro!”

The man, Kuroo, Akaashi thought he remembered Bokuto saying his name, stalked over, reading the kitchen and figuring out what happened in a moment. “I told you you shouldn’t have done it.” He glared at Akaashi as if it was his fault. “I’ll go check the breaker.” He stormed out, shaking his head angrily.

Akaashi crouched beside Bokuto, reaching out and touching his well muscled arm. “Want to go out?”

Bokuto pulled his knees up, hugging his knees and pouting. “I wanted to make you a nice dinner.”

“That’s alright, next time you’ll do it. This time let’s go get take out.”

Golden yellow eyes raised up to meet his own, widening with a semblance of happiness. “Next time?”

Akaashi blinked, and smiled, cupping his fingers around Bokuto’s bicep. “Next time.”

 

* * *

 

They waited until Kuroo was able to turn the lights back on and cleaned up the blackened bits of burned food before they left. They walked step in step together to the closest restaurant, a sushi bar, where they plopped themselves at the bar and Bokuto declared that Akaashi could eat as much as he wanted since he was paying for it.

“But you don’t have a job,” Akaashi grinned, “And I can eat a lot.”

Bokuto chuckled, “You’re a twig, there’s no way you can eat me out of house and home.”

“I’m a ballet dancer,” Akaashi pointed at him, “If I don’t eat enough I’ll fall over in class. I’ve gotta get my calories so that I can build muscles and not get light headed.”

“Well, still, eat all you want,” Bokuto flipped his wrist, “I promised you a date and a date is what you’ll get.” He plucked a plate from the conveyor belt and handed it to Akaashi. “Eat up, my pretty little dancer.”

“Don’t call me that.” Akaashi plucked chopsticks from the table and broke them, shooting Bokuto a half hearted glare. “I’m not little.”

“You are. And you’re pretty. And you’re a dancer,” Bokuto sat up in his chair, peering over the conveyor belt, picking several plates and setting them between them. Akaashi rolled his eyes, but his mouth was full of delicious tuna, so he let the issue drop for now.

“Funny,” Bokuto said with a grin around a mouthful of his own sushi roll, “You didn’t get upset at the word pretty or dancer.”

“Well,” Akaashi shrugged, “I am a pretty dancer.”

Bokuto smirked, “That you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms:
> 
> élevé - rising straight up onto the balls of the feet or pointe. Similar to relevé, but without a plié first  
> penché - means 'leaning.' means the dancer is bent forward over the standing leg with the other in arabesque well above 90 degrees, the chest lowering  
> coupé - means "cut" or "cutting," a step where one foot cuts the other foot away, taking its place. Its usually done as an in-between step for a larger step, such as a coupé jeté  
> jeté - means "throw" or "throwing," usually describes a type of jump where the dancer extends one leg then jumps off the floor with the other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Anchor - Mindy Gledhill)_

 

After dinner, they walked across the city talking and learning about each other. Akaashi learned that Bokuto had played sports in high school, and had been very good, but when he left high school he needed to get a job and wound up working in a warehouse packing fish on the coast. He’d eventually lost the job, and had come to the city to live with Kuroo, his childhood best friend, and they had started dancing together and making money from it from various contests.

Bokuto was also a gambler, and he and Kuroo would frequent dice and card halls with handfuls of cash, leaving with buckets of it that could hold them over for several months.

They stopped at an ice cream shop, Bokuto buying them large swirls of ice cream in big, crunchy cones. When they left the shop, ice cream in hand, Akaashi gave Bokuto his best _you’re weird_ look.

“You’re weird,” he said, “That looks gross.”

Bokuto grinned, dragging his tongue up a swirl of deep black ice cream, “Squid ink is good.”

Akaashi shook his head, baffled. “I can’t believe you.”

Bokuto laughed, dropping his free arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. “Well, you got a boring flavor.”

“Matcha isn’t boring. It’s delicious.”

“So is this!”

Akaashi couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe you. Oh my God.”

“Here, try it.” Bokuto stuck the ice cream under Akaashi’s nose and Akaashi yelped, jerking away with a bark of laughter.

“No way! Keep that away from me.” He bounced away, trying not to spill his own green colored ice cream as Bokuto chased him with the black, briny smelling swirl. Akaashi leaped across the crosswalk, twisting around a crowd of people and running from Bokuto who kept trying to touch the ice cream to Akaashi’s cheek.

They ended up in the park next to the fountain when Bokuto finally caught up to him, taking him in his arm and hugging him close. “Alright, I’m done, I’m done. Promise.”

Akaashi leaned against him, breathless with the run and the laughter. “You know, this has been fun. I’m surprised.”

Bokuto looked down at him, a half smile quirking up his eyebrow and crinkling his nose cutely. “You didn’t think you’d have fun?”

“I thought you were a stalker,” Akaashi said honestly, licking at his ice cream. He loved matcha and green tea, the earthiness of it and the clean, leafy taste that reminded him of being healthy.

“Oh my God,” Bokuto shook him gently, “I’m not a stalker.”

Akaashi stepped away, grinning. “You haven’t proven it, but I don’t think that particular quirk is dangerous to me anymore.” He stepped up on the ledge of the fountain,walking heel to toe with one arm out for balance.

“Don’t fall in,” Bokuto grinned, “I’d hate to have to strip you and put dry clothes on you.” His tone indicated how much he wouldn’t hate it, actually.

Akaashi blushed, chuckling. “I won’t fall. I can balance on a pointe shoe, so a six inch ledge is easy.”

Bokuto walked along beside him. “I thought those were for girls?”

“They are.” Akaashi smiled at him, impressed at his knowledge. “But I wanted to know what it was like. Men have the muscle strength to do pointe a bit easier than girls, actually. Our bone mass is a bit thicker, too, so it was easier for me to jump right in. I did pointe for two years, just for myself, it was fun. My feet took a beating, though. Girls have it harder for sure.”

Bokuto had eaten at least half of his ice cream, he reached up and touched Akaashi’s hip, looping his fingers loosely through the belt loop. “But you liked it?”

“Mhm-hmm.” Akaashi touched his hand, pushing it away so he could hop down. “It made me want to try to do other types of dance.”

Bokuto’s eyes lit up. “Really? You should dance with me!”

“Not that kind of dance.”

“You don’t even know what kind of dancing I do!” Bokuto leaned close. “It’s not just _street_. It’s got choreography and jumps and flips, too.”

Akaashi smiled. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Here, hold this!” Suddenly Bokuto pushed his ice cream into Akaashi’s free hand, stepping back. “I’ve been practicing my back flip.”

Akaashi blinked, both hands full, watching as Bokuto dropped into a deep crouch, arms swinging back. “W-Wait — !”

But Bokuto sprung up, his body arching in mid air, tucking into a tight ball at the height of the jump, well over Akaashi’s head, then extending his body and landing on his feet, arms extended and a smile spreading on his face. “Ha! I did it!”

Akaashi’s heart was in his throat. “I wouldn’t have cleaned your brains off the concrete if you hadn’t!”

Bokuto grinned at him, straightening, hands on his hips. “Don’t doubt me, Akaashi.” He moved closer, so that Akaashi’s calves were pressed against the edge of the fountain. “Now that you’ve got both hands full…”

Bokuto crowded him backwards against the fountain, raising his hands and cupping them around Akaashi’s jaw, knuckles brushing softly as his fingers uncurled and spread into his hair. He lowered his mouth, pressing their lips together.

Akaashi froze, stunned to stillness with his hands full of ice cream. This wasn’t a chaste, first time kiss. This was the kiss of lovers, of people comfortable with each other. Bokuto touched his thumbs to Akaashi’s chin, opening his mouth and dipping his tongue in. Shivers crawled up Akaashi’s spine, his breath caught in his chest and he shuddered as a soft moan floated up his throat.

Bokuto was large and warm, his mouth soft, knowing exactly what he wanted, and kissed Akaashi with a fervor that had Akaashi’s knees going weak, bowing even as Bokuto held him up.

When he pulled away, smiling down at Akaashi, he brushed his nose across his cheek, breathed gently into his ear. “Mhm — I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.”

Akaashi breathed heavily, letting Bokuto mouth at his throat, trying to control his racing heartbeat and failing. He hadn’t been kissed like this in — probably his entire life. The two other people he’d sort-of-dated hadn’t been very physical.

“Hnnh… Bokuto…” Akaashi’s breath came gasping out and Bokuto pulled away, smiling at him. Akaashi held up his ice cream and Bokuto took it, mouthing at the tip.

“You look stunned.”

Akaashi ducked his head, letting his legs go and sitting on the ledge of the fountain. He touched his fingers to his still tingling lips.

Bokuto sat beside him, putting his arm over him. “Are you okay?”

Akaashi looked up, startling a bit at the closeness of Bokuto’s face. “I just didn’t… expect it.”

Bokuto’s smile spread slowly, but widely, looking pleased and proud of himself. “You liked it, though?”

Akaashi had to look away, biting his lip as he tried not to let his own smile spread just as wide. “…Yeah… I did.”

Bokuto kissed the soft skin just under Akaashi’s ear. “Can I do it again sometime?”

“Mhm-hmm,” Akaashi hummed, turning his face back, “You can do it again right now.”

Bokuto’s face broke out in a grin and he leaned forward, his lips hovering, breath fanning over Akaashi’s and making them tingle, his mouth trembling with anticipation. Just as Akaashi parted his lips, his eyes fluttering closed, Bokuto pulled away, laughing at Akaashi’s squawk of frustration.

“Later,” Bokuto said, “I’d like to leave you wanting another date.”

Akaashi laughed, bumping his shoulder into Bokuto’s chest. “Will you take another class with me?”

“God, no,” Bokuto snickered, “Next time maybe I’ll show you how we dance.”

Akaashi smiled, “Yeah, alright. I’d be okay with that.”

 

* * *

 

After they parted ways, Bokuto giving Akaashi the smallest of kisses, the barest brushes of lips, then walking away with the promise of a text message, Akaashi went back to the studio. He locked the front door behind him and went to the small locker room (it wasn’t really a locker room, just a back room with a few plastic drawers for storage) and pulled his dance clothes from his drawer.

After he changed he moved into the studio, stretching his arms as he contemplated the date. It had been better than he’d thought. Even the fire and the disaster of Bokuto’s cooking had been ebullient, making Akaashi laugh harder than he had in months.

His mouth and body still shivered with delight at the kiss, _the kiss,_ Bokuto’s mouth on him, his tongue moving over Akaashi’s with confidence and desire. Just thinking about it made his tights uncomfortably… Tight.

He plugged his phone into the stereo system, seeing a text from Bokuto as the screen lit up: _had tns of fun. do it agin snne?_

Akaashi had to stare for several moments before he realized that _snne_ was _soon._ Instead of answering, because he needed time to think, he turned the notifications off and put his playlist on, turning the volume so high the floor buzzed with vibrations. He did warm ups, turns and stretches, getting his body to remember it wanted to dance and not have sex. Once it did, he moved through his routine — the one he’d been planning for his next audition.

Then he filmed himself doing it, pretending it was the real deal, the final shot, the only chance he had at impressing the judges and scouts. He was getting old for a dancer, many never danced professionally past age thirty. He was running out of time.

When he watched the video he sat and scowled at it. He wasn’t good enough. They had always told him something was missing. They had told him he was one of the best technical dancers, but he had no _heart_ , whatever the fuck that meant. He didn’t know how to dance with a heart, that was a muscle inside him, something he couldn’t control. Not like his legs or arms or face.

He’d spent his entire life building his technique, perfecting his body.

And it would probably get him nowhere.

He punched the floor in frustration, then whimpered and clutched his hand to his chest, knuckles screaming with pain.

He had to figure out what they wanted. If he didn’t, his entire life would have been for nothing. He couldn’t handle that.

So he stood, setting the camera back up and moving to the middle of the room as the music began so he could practice it more — so he could dance without thinking, his muscles moving on memory, so his mind could try to figure out on what exactly the scouts meant when they said _dance with your heart._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

Akaashi grumbled as light flooded his eyes. His whole body hurt. He was cold. A shadow passed over his eyes.

“Keiji, wake up.”

Akaashi muttered something even he couldn’t even comprehend, until he managed to peel open his eyes and see the owner of the studio, Nakamoto, standing over him. “Mhm… is it morning?”

Nakamoto reached a hand down for him. “You slept here again? You can’t keep doing this, Akaashi.”

Akaashi pulled himself up, swaying a bit. “Sorry… I stayed late.”

“You stayed until morning. If I come in here one more time and find you passed out on the floor again I’m putting a hold on your pay.” Nakamoto pointed at him, raising his eyebrows with worry.

Akaashi rubbed his face, flipping his wrist around to glance at his watch. He had to swipe away the notifications, Bokuto having sent several texts in the course of the night, before he could see the time. It was seven in the morning. Two hours before his first beginner class with small children. He groaned at the thought of tiny children. “Just… let me grab a shower and I’ll —”

“Go home,” Nakamoto said, moving into the office and yelling a bit to be heard a room away. “I’ll take your daytime classes. Just come for your advanced ones this evening.”

Akaashi tugged his almost dead phone from the speaker and picked up his bag. “Thanks…” he felt bad about missing classes, but he was dead on his feet. “I’ll make it up to you.” He went to the locker room to get his clothes, tugging his jacket around his shoulders.

Nakamoto sat at his desk, going over the bills. “Yes, you will. We’ll talk about it later. Go home and _sleep_.”

“Yes, sir.”

Akaashi left the studio, locking the door behind him, and walked towards his apartment. He spent the walk reading through Bokuto’s excitable texts and Suga’s anxious ones. Bokuto talked about their date, how much fun he had, how much he wanted to kiss Akaashi again, or just make up for how he botched dinner.

Suga asked for much more vulgar things involving condoms and safe sex. Akaashi ignored those.

He did answer Bokuto however, telling him that he, too, enjoyed the date and no, he wouldn’t mind doing it again, even if that meant having to watch Bokuto set fire to more pork.

At home, he plugged his phone in to charge and stripped, wanting to shower, but instead falling straight into bed and curling up, asleep almost before he hit the sheets.

 

* * *

 

That evening, before class began, Akaashi was doing some light stretching, his leg up on the barre to warm up his muscles when Sugawara sidled up to him, leaning against his side.

“So?” Suga asked, a broad smile on his face. “How’d it go?”

Akaashi looked over at him, rested his elbows on the barre. “Fine. Not that it should matter to you.”

Suga huffed. “You’re my friend! I care about you and how your life is going.” He inclined his head so their faces were only an inch apart. Akaashi narrowed his eyes at the wicked grin on Suga’s face.

“What’s that look for?”

“So… you’re stretching.”

“Yes?”

“So it didn’t hurt? Were you the one that topped- _ouch!_ ”

Akaashi had jerked away, punching Suga’s arm with his fist. “This is precisely why I didn’t want to talk to you about it!” He dropped his leg and tried to move away but Oikawa was right behind him, grinning down at him.

“What my lovely angel is trying to say,” Oikawa dropped an arm over Akaashi’s shoulder and steered him back around, holding him close, “is we want you to get laid and enjoy it. If it’s not good it’s not —”

Akaashi shoved him away, scowling. “Please just leave me alone.”

Suga grabbed his hand. “Come on, dish, we wanna live vicariously through you!”

“Oh, please,” Akaashi snorted. “You two are like damn rabbits, don’t talk to me about _vicarious_ — “

Oikawa cut in, “That guy is a _hunk_. Are his muscles that big underneath those baggy pants?”

Akaashi inhaled slowly, closing his eyes, trying not to hit Oikawa. He looked sharply at Suga. “Go to the barre. Class is starting.”

Suga swallowed, glancing away and laughing nervously. Oikawa removed his arm, side stepping away from Akaashi. “Sorry, babe.”

From the barre Yahaba muttered, “Goddammit Sugawara…now we’re all going to catch the fallout from your pestering. Why do you have to keep antagonizing him?”

Suga grumbled. “Not my fault he doesn’t wanna talk about the handsome man he should be boning.”

Akaashi whipped around, glaring. “Do you want to practice your _fouettés_ all class?” Suga hated turns, his spotting wasn’t as good as it should have been and he would rather do _adagio_ and _allégro_ instead of practicing them.

“….No….”

“Then shut up,” Akaashi snapped. He flipped a hand at Oikawa sitting at the piano. “Opening _pliés_.”

He put them through barre, with extra repetitions any time anyone in the class messed up, until they were all as perfect as he could make them in half an hour. He had Suga, Kiyoko, and Alisa practice turns, since they needed the most help. Ennoshita and Michimiya wanted to practice a _pas de deux_ they had been working on for several weeks so he sent them into one of the other studio rooms to work until they needed him.

The others — Kaori, Yahaba, Mai, and Misaki — he took through several combinations of varying difficulties. He marveled at how lightly most of them took the art of ballet. They did it because they grew up doing it and didn’t want to lose the talent, or got into it in order to stay in shape. He didn’t want to work them as hard as Suga, Ennoshita, or Kiyoko, who were all professionals or trying to be professionals in one way or another.

He was still frustrated with Suga and Oikawa for pestering him. He hated how lewd they were, especially with how open they were with their sex life. They weren’t bothered with how uncomfortable it made him, and in fact Suga seemed to derive a sick pleasure from watching him blush and squirm.

 _Well_ , Akaashi thought as he watched Suga struggle with his quintuple pirouettes, _we’ll see how soon he tries_ that _again._

After class, as everyone was doing their final stretches, willing their warm and pliant muscles into length, tricking their brain to pushing the pain receptors back further, Suga came and sat next to Akaashi.

Akaashi scowled upside down at him from his split as he was stretching his spine over his back leg. “What do you want?”

Suga pulled at loose strings on his ballet shoes, frowning. “I wanted to apologize… for earlier. Really.”

Akaashi looked away, pushing his back foot up and grabbing it with his hands, pulling it until it touched his forehead, the stretch in his back just painful enough for him to hold the position for longer. “It’s fine.”

Suga sighed, spreading his legs and rolling into a middle split so he could lean his elbows on the floor. “No… I know you don’t like it when we mess with you. I just do it cause it’s… y’know, it’s kinda funny —” he added quickly when Akaashi shot him an aggravated glare—“But it’s not! Not really. And we shouldn’t do it. Please forgive me.”

Akaashi let out a breath as he lowered his leg and leaned out of his split to press the bottoms of his feet together and lean forward. “It’s alright… but you know I hate it when you do that.”

“I know. We’ll stop. Promise.”

“Mhm... thank you.”

Suga sat up, watching him with a smile. “But… _did_ you enjoy the date?”

Akaashi sighed, sitting back on his arms and giving Suga an irritated scowl. “You won’t make fun of me?”

“I never made fun of you!”

“Fine… he tried to make dinner at his place.”

Suga grinned. “Oh?”

“He started two fires and knocked the power out.”

Suga blinked, his mouth making a small _o_ in his shock. “You’re joking.”

Oikawa had finished putting his violin away and wiping down the piano in the corner and he came to stand near them and listen. Akaashi glanced at him, saw he and Suga exchanging looks, and continued with his story.

“Yeah, so he took me out for sushi, then we went and got ice cream.”

“He sounds like a gentleman,” Oikawa said.

“Not really,” Akaashi laughed, remembering the way his lips tingled with their kiss. “I mean he wasn’t _not_ one, I suppose. But I would never describe him as a gentleman.”

Suga reached over and curled his hand around Oikawa’s calf, just to be touching. “What would you use to describe him, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Akaashi shrugged, tucking his feet under him and standing. “Zany, rampant, adorable madman?”

His friends both burst out laughing.

“Damn, he sounds like a treat.” Oikawa smiled, laying a hand on Suga’s hair and running his fingers through it.

Suga took his hand and pulled himself up, picking up his bag with his toes and pulling it to his hands so he didn’t have to bend over. “Well, are you going to see him again?”

Akaashi was silent a moment, sliding his fingers over the barre in ruminative thought. “I… I think so.”

“Why do you sound unhappy about that?” Oikawa took Suga’s bag from him, tucking it over his shoulder.

“He’s just…” Akaashi struggled to find the words. “He’s so different than anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t know how compatible we are. He’s got a tattoo.” He poked his the back of his own hand where he remembered the outline of the owl on Bokuto’s hand.

Suga snickered. “Tattoos don’t make people incompatible. I’ve got a tattoo and I make out just fine.”

“Yeah, you do.” Oikawa grinned, sliding a hand over Suga’s ass. “Cute little bird, too.”

“It’s a _crow_ , thank you very much.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “I just mean — in the long run — I’m not sure we’ll work out. I want to travel and dance across the world and he… seems content to just be… here.”

Oikawa smiled, laying an arm over Suga’s shoulder. “And what’s wrong with here?”

Akaashi glanced back at them, envious and a bit jealous of their happiness for the first time since he’d known them. Suddenly, he wanted that. He’d never cared about a relationship before… not with anything other than the stage.

“Nothing’s wrong with here,” he said, only partially wondering if he was telling the truth. “I just don’t know if it’s for me.”

Suga leaned against Oikawa’s side, face softening. “Do you want to come have dinner with us? We’re going to that pizza place.”

He was tempted, after all he hadn’t eaten since he’d woken up from his half dazed, exhausted nap earlier. But… “No, thanks. I’ve got to practice.”

Oikawa flapped a hand. “You’ve been practicing a lot lately, take a break.”

Akaashi snorted. “I can’t. You know that.”

“Keiji, the audition isn’t for another few months. Surely —”

“I’m not hungry, anyway,” Akaashi said, trying to make them believe it, “I won’t stay long. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Suga sighed, shaking his head. “You’ll work yourself to death. But yeah, see you tomorrow.”

They left, and Akaashi checked his phone while he stretched his feet, first leaning hard on the balls of his feet to stretch his arch, then tucking his toes and pushing in order to work the tops of his feet. Bokuto had sent him several messages and Akaashi read them from the lock screen. Bokuto wanted to know if he would have dinner with him.

Akaashi made sure not to open them, however. He knew all about read receipts and he didn’t know what to say to him. The more he thought about it, the more he thought … what kind of future could they have? Maybe he shouldn’t get too attached. It seemed only logical. He was planning on leaving the city eventually, anyway.

So he turned his phone off, turned the music on high, and danced his frustration out, first with several improvised routines, then he practiced his turns and, unlike Suga, he was good at turns.

_(Song Selection: Coda 3 Faster - Tchaikovsky, from “Swan Lake” )_

It was one of his favorite things to do, and he could whip out over fifty _fouettés_ on a good day. Usually he stopped before then, though, simply because he didn’t have the time to do any more. He remembered, when he had been seven, watching Swan Lake and the character Odile performing her thirty two _fouettés en pointe_ at a local production and immediately latching onto the grace and beauty of the turns.

His teacher at the time hadn’t wanted to teach him how to do the turns, had said he was too young, so Akaashi had learned how to do it from Youtube and next time he went to class he popped out seven of them and told the teacher in his most arrogant child's voice, “Don’t tell me I can’t do things!”

Ever since then, he’d increased the number of turns he could do, and even to this day he wasn’t quite sure what the most he could do in one session was. He’d always just stopped before he fell out of them.

Now, he had the music on loud so he didn’t have to think about the rhythm of the turns, just felt them through the floor, and turned, turned, turned, his head whipping around, practicing different arm positions every ten or so rotations.

At about sixty something caught his eye in the mirror — he tried to ignore it but his eyes left his spot in the mirror and he began to tilt. He corrected by shifting his arms, then groaned as he over corrected and toppled out of a turn, arms whipping around his body as they tried to finish it without the rest of his torso.

“Damn!” he said to himself, turning, the room slanting just a bit in his head, but not enough for it to make him dizzy. “What are you doing here?”

Bokuto stood in the doorway, smiling, hands in the pocket of his oversized jacket. He wore a hoodie too, with a large owl on it — possibly the emblem of a sports team. “Hey,” he said, “That was _really_ cool.”

Akaashi sniffed some, brushing his hand across his mouth and glancing at his watch, his heart rate was high, pounding in his chest. This time he knew it was from dancing and not Bokuto… even though the beating felt a bit different the moment Bokuto’s deep voice hit his ears. “Thanks.”

Bokuto shifted, not coming into the studio because of his street shoes, smiling when he saw Akaashi notice. “So! You didn’t answer my texts.”

Akaashi stooped beside his bag, digging his phone out. “My phone was off, sorry.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

Bokuto shrugged, nonchalant. “I thought so! My family’s having a barbecue… you should come.”

Akaashi laughed, sitting and taking off his shoes, rolling up his tights to his thighs and pulling his favorite black leggings from his bag to cover his legs. “It’s a bit early to meet your family, don’t you think?”

“Well — they’re my friends, really. Just a bunch of us getting together for a little party.”

Akaashi stripped off his sweaty dance shirt, ignoring Bokuto’s inhaled breath, and tugged on a t-shirt. “I don’t know, Bokuto… I’m quite tired.”

Bokuto pouted, actually pouted, bottom lip sticking out with a huff. “Ohhhh come on! It’ll be fun.”

Akaashi stood, glancing around and thinking. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. He should pull away… dancing was the priority in his life, after all. But what came out of his mouth was: “If you’ll help me sweep the studios then…. Yeah. I’ll come.”

Bokuto perked up, beaming. “I can do that!” He kicked off his shoes in the doorway and bounced into the room. He immediately jumped over to Akaashi and swept him up in his arms, spinning him around and literally sweeping him off his feet. Akaashi yelped in surprise, then laughed as Bokuto set him on his feet and kissed him, bowing him backwards like the old Hollywood films.

“Okay,” Bokuto said once they had separated. “Now I can help.”

Akaashi laughed breathlessly, stepping back and touching his head. Sixty pirouettes and he wasn’t dizzy, but a single kiss from Bokuto had his head spinning pleasantly. “I’ll get the brooms.”

After they had swept all three studios, dumped the trash, tucked extra jackets and spare shoes into the lost and found, and wiped spots off the mirrors they stepped outside under the awning as Akaashi locked the door. He looked up at the sky, and the fat, heavy rain that fell, and frowned. He’d left his jacket at home, and he was just about to tell Bokuto that maybe he should just call a cab and go home when Bokuto began shrugging out of his jacket.

“Here, hold this.” He passed the bulky jacket to Akaashi and began pulling his arms into his hoodie and pushing it off over his head. He switched the jackets in Akaashi’s hands, pulled the big one back on, and took Akaashi’s bag from him. “That one has a hood,” he explained.

Akaashi blinked, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

Bokuto’s slow smile had warmth spreading in Akaashi’s chest. “Put that on, it’s got a hood to protect you from the rain.”

“Uh…” Akaashi looked at the soft, still skin warmed fabric in his hands. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” He made a _hurry hurry_ motion with his hand. “Really.”

So Akaashi pulled the hoodie on over his head. As he did, his senses were filled with Bokuto: a sharp, sweet scent of sweat that wasn’t unpleasant at all. What did _that_ say about him, Akaashi wondered as he emerged from the collar and slipped his hands through the sleeves. It was much too big, but still warm from Bokuto’s body heat and Akaashi had a sudden, irrational desire to never ever take it off.

Bokuto reached over and pulled the hood up, brushing his fingers across his cheeks. “Come on,” he said, “We can go around the corner to the busier street and find a cab.” He held out his hand, smiling, and Akaashi couldn’t help the shiver in his chest as he took Bokuto’s hand and Bokuto twined their fingers together.

“Run!” Bokuto said in a rushed whisper, half pulling Akaashi into the pouring rain as they raced away, Akaashi’s laughter echoing off the sides of the buildings and floating high into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms: 
> 
> fouetté - means "whipped turns" - when a dancer does a full turn pirouette, followed by a plié on the standing leg while the working leg extends to croisé front and rond de jambes to the side (a la seconde). As the leg hits the a la second and still in plie, the dancer releves and brings the leg into retiré and begins a turn again. Odile from Swan Lake Act III does the famous 32 fouetté terms  
> adagio - a slow movement, typically performed with the greatest amount of grace and fluidity than other movements of dance.  
> allégro - bright, fast or brisk steps and movement.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. - I hope you guys are liking/learning fun new ballet terms, lol. I'm not sure if the Glossary is necessary, or if anyone reads it or just ignores it, but it's been fun for me to write. <3 Thank you all for reading MfL!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Music Sounds Better with You (12” Club Mix) - Stardust)_

They took a taxi back to Bokuto’s house, Akaashi sitting in the cab with the hoodie up around his face. He told Bokuto it was because he was cold, but really it was because he liked Bokuto’s scent surrounding him.

Bokuto kept up a constant stream of chatter, telling Akaashi about his day, how he and Kuroo had had to go out and buy a new rice cooker, and how they’d spent several hours at the park swindling people with magic and card tricks.

“You steal from people?”

“No,” Bokuto grinned, arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, “They give us money and they just don’t win it back.”

Akaashi snorted. “Uh-huh.”

When they got to his house Bokuto snatched Akaashi’s bag and dropped it in his room, then took his hand and led him down the stairs to the large, spacious basement. It was a basement only in name, with hardwood floors and well lit corners, a set of glass double doors led to a covered patio where they had a grill going, wafting with the smells of cooked, marinated meat. Akaashi’s mouth watered and he had to resist the urge to moan aloud.

He hadn’t realized quite how hungry he was.

There were a lot of people around, a handful of them looking over curiously at Akaashi and Bokuto as they entered. Bokuto kept Akaashi’s hand and pulled him through the small crowd, around what was an impromptu dance floor, towards the table stuffed with plates of food.

“Get anything you want,” Bokuto said, leaning to kiss his cheek and then handing him a plate.

Akaashi glanced around, feeling eyes on him and shifting uncomfortably. Kuroo looked up from the grill, snapping the tongs in his hand. “Tarou, you’re rude.”

Bokuto made a face, groaning. “Look there’s lots of people, he’ll get overwhelmed.”

A girl, rustic brown hair flying around her face as she flounced over to them, leaned close to Akaashi, her smile broad and wide. “Are you the famous little dancer?”

“I’m not — ugh!” Akaashi rolled his eyes at Bokuto. “I take it he talks about me.”

“Literally all the time,” said a shorter man, black hair spiked high, mouth full of meat.

Akaashi held out a hand to the girl. “Akaashi Keiji,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

The girl beamed, taking his hand with long, nimble fingers. “Call me Yukie. That’s Noya, and beside him is his partner in crime Tanaka, and the Third Musketeer is over there, the undercut and the blonde hair? He’s Terushima —”

“Yukie, c’mon,” Bokuto flapped a hand, “We can do all that later, at a more natural pace. He won’t remember all your names.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t know that.” He held his fingers up, “Yukie, Noya, Tanaka, Terushima. I think I got it so far.”

Bokuto rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “We’ll work our way around the room _after_ food.”

Akaashi acknowledged this caveat and, following Bokuto around the table, filled his plate with gratuitous amounts of food: grilled chicken, salmon, mushrooms, broccoli, corn, tomatoes with parsley and cilantro, onigiri and inarizushi. Bokuto not only picked up some of everything, but he also placed anything Akaashi didn’t pick up on his plate for him, as if Akaashi had been too nervous to eat.

He was wrong, but Akaashi was still pleased at the amount of food that ended up on his plate. They sat together at a table littered with cards and poker chips where Akaashi met a man named Daichi and another woman, blonde and loud and cheerful, Saeko. Kuroo came over to harass Bokuto about all the money they spent on a new rice cooker after he’d set it on fire.

When all plates were cleaned, Akaashi motioned to a smaller man in the corner, head ducked and focused on a laptop that had several cords snaking from it and to speakers hooked around the walls. “Who’s that?”

Bokuto looked over, grinning. “Oh, that’s Kenma, he’s our musician.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “Really? I know a musician — but he plays violin and piano, not a laptop.”

Saeko drummed her fingers on the table rhythmically. “He’s our DJ, he makes all sorts of sick beats.”

“Interesting,” Akaashi said, leaning his cheek on his hand. “I’d like to hear that sometime.”

Daichi said, “You’re hearing it now.”

Akaashi glanced at him, then at the speakers around the room, shifting his focus to the music thumping from them. He liked the beat, the rhythm, and the dynamics of it. “I like it,” he said aloud, smiling at the pleased looks the others gave him.

Bokuto stood, holding out his hand. “Come dance with me.”

Akaashi stared at his hand, then laughed, leaning away. “No way.”

“What? You gotta dance with me!” Bokuto reached for his wrist and Akaashi tucked his arms against his chest for safe keeping.

He laughed. “No, I can’t dance like that.” He didn’t do _‘club’_ dancing. It didn’t make any sense to him. Also he thought that if he moved too much he might just _pop_ with all the food he’d eaten. How the hell Bokuto was so energetic and mobile after all that he ate was proof that he was some other creature entirely.

Yukie stood, grinning, taking Bokuto’s hand in hers. “I’ll dance with you, big boy.” He laughed, glancing back at Akaashi as she pulled him to the floor where they pushed into the small assembled crowd and pressed together as the music hummed through the speakers.

Akaashi glanced at them, frowning, suddenly worried. Did Yukie and Bokuto —

Someone slapped the table and Akaashi whipped his head around to see Noya standing at the table, a bottle of tequila in hand, and Tanaka right behind him, juggling several shot glasses. “Hey, yo!” The short, excitable man said, voice too loud even over the music, “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”

Akaashi leaned his cheek on his hand, grinning. “Oh yeah?” He didn’t know what he could have done in the last hour to have deserved this treatment but he wasn’t exactly threatened by the man.

“Yea!” Noya pointed at him accusingly as Tanaka slipped into Bokuto’s vacant chair. “I lost my game of Mario Party because of you!”

Akaashi blinked, then snickered. “Excuse me?”

Noya poured out several shots, one for everyone at the table. “You owe me! The power went out just before the game saved and I lost my chance at first place forever!”

Daichi stood suddenly, proclaiming, “I can’t drink with you guys,” he waved a hand at Akaashi, “Don’t let them drown you in liquor. Just walk away if you have to.” And he did just that, leaving Akaashi with the two boisterous men, grinning like debauched demons ready to drag Akaashi to hell with them.

“Uh,” Akaashi blinked, suddenly wary, “I don’t underst—”

“Saturday,” Tanaka explained, pushing a shot glass full of tequila over to him, “Bokuto knocked out the power,” he tittered out an amused laugh, “Bokuto was cooking for you.”

“There-go it’s your fault!” Noya intoned, holding up his own glass. “Now you gotta drink with me to make it up to me!”

Akaashi squinted at him. “I believe the word you want is _ergo_.” But he slipped his fingers around the glass, peering at the gold colored drink, then sniffing it and blinked in surprise. It didn’t smell bad, in fact it was almost sweet, like caramel.

Noya held up his shot for a toast, and Akaashi shrugged, the three of them clinked glasses and threw back. Akaashi almost choked, it was overly sweet and tasted of agave and caramel, the liquor was strong and Akaashi hadn’t done shots since he was fifteen and fucked up his first ever audition — then cried in the dressing room with the older dancers while they poured liquor down his throat.

He handed the glass back to Noya as the man said, “Argo? Like Hercules and the Argonauts?”

Tanaka laughed at him, “Nah, bro, Thesus sailed on the Argo.”

Akaashi pressed his lips together to not laugh. “It was Jason, just so you know.”

“Really?” They turned to look at him, then Noya pulled out his phone to Google it. “Oh my God, you’re right!”

“So does that mean we’ve got to take shots cause we were wrong?” Tanaka asked, leaning over to stare at his phone.

Noya considered this, then nodded sagely and poured two more shots for them. They drank them, then looked at Akaashi. “Wanna play trivia?”

Akaashi glanced back to the dance floor, but Bokuto was still distracted with Yukie, so he said, “Sure.”

Noya set his phone face up on the table so they could all see the screen, then spun it madly, declaring that whoever the top pointed to would have to go next. It was Akaashi, unfortunately, and Noya clicked a button on the webpage so a random question popped up: _What is a group of unicorns known as?_

Akaashi squinted at the phone, unsure. “Uh… a herd?”

Tanaka tapped the question and the answer appeared: _a blessing._

They all snorted. “What?!” Akaashi barked a laugh and, after letting Noya fill his glass, he drank it quickly. “I don’t believe that.”

“The internet says it so it’s true, bro,” Tanaka said, flicking the phone around in a spin again. “Ok, my turn! What animal swallows large stones and uses them as ballast?” He blinked, sitting back in his chair in confusion. “What the fuck is a ballast?”

Noya laughed, pushing another glassful towards him. “I guess that means you don’t know the answer.”

Tanaka laughed, drank his shot, and the two of them turned to Akaashi. “What’s a ballast?”

Akaashi blinked, and had to think a moment. “Uhm… something that makes ships stable? I dunno… something like that.”

“That doesn’t make sense?” Tanaka asked, taking the phone and clicking on the answer. “Crocodile?”

Noya took the phone and set it back on the table. “Trivia isn’t about learning, Ryuu, it’s about drinking.”

They spent several songs yelling trivia facts over the music and drinking steadily. Akaashi felt the alcohol slivering through his blood pleasantly and warming his face. He was full of food and drink and giggling with the two rambunctious men, his eyes glancing over at the dance floor every now and then to find Bokuto, which was easy since he was so tall and had such distinct hair.

And once, when he looked, Bokuto was weaving his way back towards him through the crowd. Akaashi smiled at him, raising his chin to look up at him when Bokuto was directly behind him, then shivered as Bokuto trailed his fingers over Akaashi’s shoulders and throat, tilting his head back, too far, it hurt, but when Bokuto leaned down and kissed him, gently prying his lips open, tongue dipping in Akaashi’s mouth, Akaashi didn’t care about the ache in his neck or the stretch of his throat.

One of them made a sound that vibrated against his tongue, but Akaashi didn’t know which of them it was, his head spinning with giddiness and his insides tingling with desire so much that he didn’t care if he was making embarrassing noises. Bokuto sucked on his lip until Tanaka cleared his throat loudly. Bokuto pulled away, face hovering over Akaashi’s, not letting his head go, fingers pressed into Akaashi’s jaw to hold him captive. “Problem, Ryuu?”

Tanaka huffed. “PDA, dude.”

Bokuto said, “Go away, then,” and he dropped his head as Akaashi laughed, kissing him again, Akaashi’s head spinning as he raised his hands and tangled them in Bokuto’s downy soft hair.

When next Akaashi was released from Bokuto’s embrace they were alone at the table, with only shot glasses to show that anyone had ever been there in the first place.

Bokuto swiped his tongue across Akaashi’s lips, his fingers spreading over his throat — and Akaashi was sure that Bokuto could feel his fluttering pulse.“Dance with me,” Bokuto said, barely a suggestion.

Akaashi hummed, Bokuto’s fingers shifted, tracing over his vocal cords. “I can’t dance like that,” he whispered, just loud enough that Bokuto could hear him. Bokuto’s eyes flicked to his mouth, tongue moving behind his teeth and Akaashi parted his lips, wanting to lick him like matcha ice cream.

“I’ll teach you,” Bokuto smiled, stepping away, sliding a hand down his arm and gripping Akaashi’s hand.

“Nooo,” Akaashi groaned, but laughing as he allowed himself to be pulled up, for a moment stumbling from the drinking as his body reset itself to accommodate it. He couldn’t have stopped Bokuto anyway, Bokuto could just carry him if he wanted. “I can’t, it’s hard.”

“It’s easy, just _feel_ the music. You’re a dancer — just dance.” He walked backwards, trusting the crowd to part for him.

“But… I can’t. I need choreography. Steps.”

Bokuto laughed, and turned his head, yelling something quick and fast that Akaashi didn’t catch to Kenma. The smaller boy raised one eyebrow, shrugged, and ducked to his laptop. The music changed suddenly, vanishing with a dissonant hum and popping back in with a lively, bouncing rhythm.

_(Song Selection: Hip Hip Chin Chin - Club Des Belugas)_

“Can you samba?” Bokuto asked, smile spreading wide on his face.

Akaashi stared at him, let himself be dragged more easily in his confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s an easy question, my little dancer, can you do the samba?”

He tugged Akaashi against him suddenly, so quickly that Akaashi stumbled a bit and had to catch himself on Bokuto’s chest with a little gasp. Bokuto took his hand, bouncing his feet to the music, and Akaashi laughed, following along, then blinking as he realized Bokuto was taking the lead.

Now Akaashi would have to do the typical female role. Of course Bokuto would know only how to do the male role.

But Akaashi _did_ know how to samba. He knew how to both follow and lead, so he fell into step with Bokuto as the rhythm of the music dictated to them, unable to stop the smile creeping onto his face.

Several people moved away from them, laughing, as Bokuto flicked Akaashi away from him in a tight, twisting turn before clutching him close, a hand sliding down his spine in a possessive, eager way. It heated up Akaashi’s skin where he touched.

“There ya go,” Bokuto whispered to him, voice low and excited.

Akaashi shivered, but had no time to think as Bokuto swung him wide, their hands twined together as their eyes locked. Bokuto was amused, grinning like a madman, flipping Akaashi around in a series of quick spins as he chased him across the dance floor, Akaashi dancing away with flicks of his hips, arms snapping with the music.

People cheered for them, as the music rose to a high, trilling beat, the two of them dancing with the music, losing themselves in the beat. When he was breathless with the dancing, Akaashi laughed aloud as Bokuto jerked him against his body Akaashi leapt up so he was laying on him, one leg raised high in a side kick. Bokuto’s smile exploded in a laugh as he set Akaashi down, arm wrapped around his waist and bent him backward, kissing him, passing his hand down to cup his ass and hold him against him.

Cat calls, wolf whistles, cheers. Akaashi’s chest was light from joy, serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, the chemicals of happiness, and Bokuto’s mouth all making him giddy and lightheaded in a pleasant, warm way.

“So you can samba,” Bokuto smiled against his lips.

“I am a dancer,” Akaashi grinned back, sliding his arms around Bokuto’s neck and dipping his fingers into the back of his shirt. Sweat slicked his skin, but Akaashi welcomed the heat of his skin, and had an animalistic, sensual desire to lick it from Bokuto’s throat.

“I’m impressed.” Bokuto laughed, standing him straight, hand on his arm.

Then, as if by magic, another hand on his arm, turning Akaashi’s attention from Bokuto to the dark haired lanky man standing behind him. Kuroo.

“May I borrow you?” Kuroo smiled, ducking his head towards Akaashi as a new song started up and people shifted around them.

“Uh…”

Saeko leaned over to grab Bokuto’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him busy for you.” She winked at Akaashi and pulled him away so that Kuroo could turn and walk off the dance floor with Akaashi following along behind him.

Kuroo went to a table and picked up a red cup, filled it with a mix of something from a large round bowl. He handed it to Akaashi with a broad, cat like smile and a simpering, “You must be thirsty.”

Akaashi took it, sniffed the mixture and made a face, to which Kuroo laughed loudly. “That bad, huh? How much do you think Teru spiked it?”

Sipping it, coughing a bit, “Quite a lot.”

Kuroo smiled, but something about it was predatory, unnerving Akaashi for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “They do tend to do that. I suggest you drink it, it’s quite good. Parties are more fun that way.”

Akaashi took another sip, the fire of liquor less of a sear on it’s way down and more of a simmering warmth. Pleasant. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What _do_ you know, Akaashi Keiji?”

Akaashi blinked at him, then scowled. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve spent a total of, oh,” and here Kuroo feigned a look at a cheap watch on his wrist, supple leather and a small face that Akaashi thought was broken. “About ten hours with my best friend and you’ve got him wrapped around your stretchy little,” his silvery gray eyes flicked over Akaashi’s body, “ _legs._ And I am curious, what are your intentions with my friend?”

Akaashi stared at him, then a laugh bubbled up his throat, buoyant from liquor, and he giggled out his next words: “You’re joking.”

“I absolutely am not.”

Still he laughed, shaking his head, leaning against the already laden table, probably shouldn’t do it, but he didn’t care, not really. Was he tipsy? He thought so. “Well I don’t have any ill intentions, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Kuroo squinted at him, giving him a probing, inquisitive once over. “You know, my friends and I, sometimes we get a bad rap.” He said, inclining his tall form so he was bent towards Akaashi, as if they were sharing a secret. “Street gangs and all that. We look like one, but we’re not. I’ve never done great violence, nor has that big lummox you were sexing up on the dance floor.”

Akaashi snorted, but Kuroo continued, not letting himself be interrupted, “But if you hurt him I will bring great violence upon you.”

Akaashi raised his eyebrows, knowing that he should feel threatened but was amused more than anything. Either because he was too stupid to be threatened, he was much more drunk than he thought he was, or he simply didn’t consider this man a threat. “Uh-huh,” he smiled at Kuroo, “Sure — I get it.”

Kuroo shook his head. “I don’t think you do. That man,” he nodded towards Bokuto, who was attempting a double samba with Yukie and Saeko simultaneously, not all together unsuccessfully, “Doesn’t just do things half-assed. He puts his entire self into whatever he does. If you let him fall in love with you and you break his heart —”

“Whoah, whoah.” Akaashi held up his hands, chuckling. “You said yourself, I’ve spent less than ten hours in his company. I think the word _love_ is a bit profound, don’t you?”

“Not with Koutarou. He’ll devote himself to you, and you can either do the same or back out now.”

Akaashi looked away, taking another large drink of the potion in the cup. It fizzled in his stomach, spreading sensations of pinpricks across his limbs. His hands shifted around the cup, gripping tighter so as not to drop it. “I thank you for your candor,” he glanced up, “Kuroo, was it? But I have no intentions with your friend. He pursued me, remember?” With that he shrugged off the table, refilled his cup to the brim, and stepped away, catching Bokuto’s eye as he moved around the room, and smiling, inexplicably happy about the way Bokuto’s eyes followed him, voracious and attentive.

Noya bounced up beside him, jumping and hooking an arm around Akaashi’s neck so he stumbled and his drink splashed out over onto his fingers. Noya’s face was flushed with alcohol and he shouted in Akaashi’s ear, “Yo! Wanna come play cards with us?”

Akaashi chuckled and sucked liquor off his fingers. “With a bunch of hooligans? I shouldn’t.”

Noya’s answering smile was dazzling. “So you will?”

“Obviously,” Akaashi grinned and, with a gleeful shout from Noya, was dragged to the card table in the corner where drinks, chips, and cards were being passed around.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

 

_(Song Selection: Fragile - God is an Astronaut)_

The food was gone, Akaashi had been suckered into playing cards with exactly the wrong group of people, and he was losing resoundingly.

Terushima smirked at him. “Dude, you’re not good at this.”

Akaashi squinted at the cards fanned around the cup, slowly reaching out a finger.

Bokuto laughed, warm with drink himself, but nowhere near plastered like Akaashi was. He smiled, watching as Akaashi frowned at the choices of the identical face down cards. He liked this uninhibited, giggling side of him. His cheeks were an absolutely lovely color of pink, and he’d stripped off Bokuto’s hoodie when he got hot, wearing only a skin tight, soft blue t-shirt. Blue looked good on him. Bokuto thought yellow looked good on him too, and couldn’t decide if he liked the look of Akaashi in his jacket or in the revealing shirt more. Both had his imagination doing gymnastics.

Akaashi picked a card and flipped it over: another king. Everyone around the table exploded in a laugh. Akaashi huffed and leaned back, folding his arms. “I don’t wanna play with you guys anymore,” he pouted.

Nishinoya pushed a cup to him. “Final king finishes the drink.” Bokuto didn’t point out that there had already been _many_ kings drawn.

Akaashi moaned, sinking low in his seat as if to escape punishment. “You just refilled it…”

Tanaka, Terushima, and Nishinoya banged their fists excitedly on the table, chanting: “Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug!”

Akaashi rolled his eyes, but he was already so drunk the motion lolled his entire head. “Fiiiiiiiiine,” he whined, sitting up, snatching the cup, spilling a bit across his fingers, then raising the cup and tipping it back, drinking it down with long, gulping mouthfuls. When the cup was empty he threw it at Nishinoya’s face with a loud gasp, then collapsed forward, head on his arms.

The three other men laughed and Bokuto leaned forward, touching Akaashi’s hair, which was damp with sweat. “You okay?”

His only answer was a long, low moan. Bokuto stood, waving at the others. “I’m gonna take him before he throws up on the table.”

Nishinoya snickered. “Can’t hold his liquor.”

“He’s drank more than double what you have, you little shit. You rigged the game didn’t you?” Bokuto asked with a grin, knowing full well that a deck of cards only had four kings and Akaashi had pulled four of them himself, while Bokuto had drawn at least one or two. He pulled Akaashi’s arm around his shoulders and lifted him up. Akaashi wasn’t heavy, but he was unwieldy now that he was half limp with drink and Bokuto slipped an arm around Akaashi’s waist, holding him against his side.

Akaashi leaned against him, head swinging from Bokuto’s shoulder to dipping his chin to his chest and moaning softly. Nishinoya watched this, his face falling. “Ah… shit.”

Bokuto shook his head, declaring, “Dick.”

He took Akaashi upstairs, dragging him when his feet stumbled, and set him on a stool in the bathroom. “Hey, my drunken little dancer, how you feeling?”

Akaashi leaned his head on Bokuto’s shoulder, swaying. “M’hm good…”

Bokuto chuckled, stroking the sodden hair at the base of his neck. “Are you? Can you sit up? Let me go get you some water.”

Akaashi’s fingers reached out, hooked around Bokuto’s arms. “No, don’ go. You’re…mhm…so warm.” His words were slurred and thick, dripping from his tongue like cold syrup.

Bokuto wrapped his arms around Akaashi, held him steady to stop his rocking. “Better?”

“Mhm-hmm.”

He stayed that way, kneeling on his own bathroom floor, keeping Akaashi from falling off the stool. After a time, several different beats of songs rising and falling under his feet from the basement, he said, “I’m going to go get you some water now. Sit up, okay?” He gently pried Akaashi off him, helping him to sit up. “Here, lean against the wall, there ya go, just try not to fall in the floor, ok? Be right back.”

He left Akaashi half collapsed against the wall next to the toilet and went to the kitchen. He scrounged in the cabinets for a clean glass and filled it with water before going back, and sighing when he found Akaashi curled over the toilet, already throwing up.

“Ah… shit,” he said, setting the glass on the counter and crouching beside him, rubbing his back. “There, there, it’s alright.”

Akaashi was shivering, his shoulders trembling with nausea as his body heaved, attempting to rid itself of alcohol. Bokuto sat with him, and when Akaashi finally was finished, coughing and spluttering, turning his head away, whimpering, Bokuto tucked him against his chest and stood him up, letting him wash his mouth out at the sink before saying, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mhm- no’ sleepy…”

Bokuto chuckled. “Yeah, I know.” He tried to maneuver Akaashi out of the bathroom but he was stumbling too much, so Bokuto swept him up into his arms, held him close as Akaashi moaned with the sudden movement and clenched his fists in Bokuto’s shirt.

He carried Akaashi to his bedroom and, when Akaashi protested that he was too gross to sleep in his bed, Bokuto helped him strip of his shirt and pants that had been half doused in alcohol and vomit. Normally having a nearly naked man in his bed would be cause for arousal, but right now he just wanted Akaashi to sleep off his evening of drinking and feel better.

He tucked his blankets up around Akaashi’s shoulders, and Akaashi mumbled, “Smells like you.”

Bokuto chuckled, laying beside him, running his fingers over Akaashi’s hair as he dozed. “You’re gonna be okay, my little dancer. Just sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Don’ call me tha’…”

“Mhm-hmm.”

Akaashi snuggled down lower, tucking the blankets up around his face and inhaling slowly. Bokuto watched him, smiling, cupping his cheek and then sliding his fingers into his hair since Akaashi hummed with happiness when he did it. His hair was still damp, but Bokuto didn’t care, and he traced the arches of his skull, down to the knobs at the top of his spine.

“You’re so lovely,” he whispered, “It makes me want to take care of you.”

Akaashi’s lips twitched in a drowsy smile. “Don’ need…”

Bokuto twisted a piece of hair around his finger. “No, probably not. You can take care of yourself… but I’d like to do it too.”

Akaashi hummed, but his brain was foggy with sleep and liquor, and he only settled in deeper, drifting off into a land of muddled dreams, nose pressed into the twist of blankets he was wrapped in.

Bokuto sat with him until he was sound asleep, stroking his hair, his skin, leaning close and breathing in his scent, even through the sharp tang of alcohol Bokuto could smell the sandalwood of his soap, the softness of his sweat, the sweetness of his skin. He kissed his brow, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, pleased that his bed would smell like Akaashi in the morning.

“Bro,” Kuroo called softly from the doorway.

Bokuto didn’t look up. “Mhm?” He kept his voice low so as not to disturb Akaashi.

More insistent: “Bo.”

Bokuto sighed, disappointed to lose this quiet moment, but pulling away, tucking the blankets around Akaashi’s form and tiptoeing to the door. “What?”

Kuroo stepped out, pulling the door halfway shut. “Yukie is looking for you; and Nishinoya says he's killed your boy toy. He’s distraught.”

“Good, he should be,” he peeked into the room, but Akaashi’s breathing was slow and even. He was out like a log. “But I think he’ll be okay. What's Yukie want?”

“The usual.”

Bokuto groaned, rubbing his hair in frustration. “She knows we aren't dating anymore. Hell, she's the one that broke it off — after she found someone else she thought she liked more than me, mind you.”

“Doesn't mean she doesn't still have feelings for you,” Kuroo pointed out unhelpfully.

“Yeah, well, I never really had feelings for her in the first place,” he said bitterly, looking away.

Kuroo folded his arms. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well she went and fucked me on that too, then, didn't she?” Bokuto snapped, then dropped his voice, “I told her already I don't want to do that again. We’re just friends, and I’m okay with that. I thought you were my bro? Why aren't you on my side?”

Kuroo shrugged, stepping away from the door when Bokuto did, following him to the kitchen. “I think she's good for you. You were happy when you were together, and she never _actually_ cheated or anything.”

Bokuto picked up several random pieces of cutlery, tossing them in the sink. “Bullshit. And, I’m happy now so…”

“Are you?” Kuroo grabbed several large trash bags to take downstairs.

“Yeah, I am, Tetsu.” Bokuto looked up, squinting at him. “And I saw you talking to Akaashi earlier.” It was an accusation.

But Kuroo only shrugged. “I talk to all your dates.”

“Even Yukie?”

“Especially her, since you two were so close to begin with.”

And Bokuto stopped what he was doing to glare at him. “Fat lot of good that did, hm? So stop.” And he snatched a trash bag from Kuroo’s fingers and stomped downstairs to clean up the food, remembering the last time they’d let it go till the morning and the house had been assaulted by ants for weeks.

 

* * *

 

When Akaashi awoke the next morning, he thought he probably shouldn't, and tried to slip quietly back into sleep.

His stomach told him that if he did it would rebel, so he lay quietly dying, until he managed to peel open his crust filled eyes. Bokuto was with him, snoring, sound asleep with his back to Akaashi. Akaashi reached out, sliding his fingers over the strong muscles of his back, down to the wing of his shoulder blade. No wonder he could lift Akaashi like it was nothing, all his baggy shirts hid just how much muscle he really had.

His movements caused Bokuto to shift, and roll over on his back, stretching his arms over his head and Akaashi marveled at the muscles on his front, too.

“Morning,” Bokuto said, voice still thick and rough with sleep.

Akaashi blinked at him, still feeling too sick to really move.

“Want some water?”

And when Akaashi nodded, Bokuto sat up, kissing Akaashi's head, and padding from the room in just his underwear. It was a sight.

It _was_ a _sight_.

When he came back, Akaashi had managed to sit up, leaning against the headboard. He didn't remember stripping to his underwear, either, but he was too hungover to really care. His head throbbed with every beat of his heart and the room spun, his stomach clenched with the desire to throw up, but he quelled it by sheer force of will.

“Here,” Bokuto said, sitting beside him and handing him a tall glass of water and two aspirin. “We’ll go get some breakfast soon.”

Akaashi only moaned, taking a sip of the water and chewing the aspirin to a fine powder before washing it down. “Bokuto…” he felt his cheeks coloring, “We didn't — uh — _do_ anything last night, did we?”

Bokuto laughed, digging around in his floor for semi clean jeans and stepping into them. “Nah, you were so drunk, I was pretty drunk too. Seemed like a bad idea. I want you to remember it with me,” and he winked, a wide smile on his face.

Akaashi blushed and sipped his water, his body grateful for the hydration. “Ah…”

Bokuto spent several minutes deep in his closet, and found some black sweatpants and another hoodie. “Here, these are my old things from high school, they might fit you. Let’s go get breakfast.”

With only minimal desire to throw up, Akaashi dressed, found his shoes kicked away under the bed, and they went to the kitchen where the DJ, Kenma, was sipping coffee. Bokuto asked, “You're not making food?”

“No?” The smaller man frowned at him. His voice was soft and sweet, and the piercing glance he shifted to Akaashi for only a moment made Akaashi feel like he was being categorized. “Why would I?”

“Cause your eggs are delicious!”

Kenma smiled, ducking his face to his mug. “Thank you, but no. Kuroo’s still asleep and he's a monster when you wake him before he wants to be awake. Even food would not quell the beast.”

Bokuto rolled his eyes. “Fine, only making food for your boyfriend, I see how it is. Can we take the car, then?”

Kenma glanced at a bowl near the front door. “Keys should be there. If not I’ll go find them for you.”

They were in the bowl, so Bokuto and Akaashi took the small, puttering car to a restaurant that Akaashi had never heard of or even seen. As they walked in the smell of frying foods and fresh coffee hit Akaashi’s nose and he wasn't sure if it was amazing or disgusting. Too soon to tell.

Bokuto waved at the workers behind the counter and held up two fingers then tucked Akaashi into a booth in the corner, sitting across from him as a waitress brought over two large glasses with deep red liquid.

“What’s this?” Akaashi asked after Bokuto had thanked the woman and she had left. He sniffed it, smelling tomato juice and spices.

“Bloody Mary,” Bokuto grinned, sucking his down with a sigh of happiness.

Akaashi wrinkled his nose, pushing it away, then frowning when Bokuto pushed it right back with a finger. “I don’t want to drink anymore…”

“Just one,” Bokuto promised, “will make you feel better. Trust me.”

Akaashi frowned, but pulled it to him and took a sip. It wasn’t bad, the tomato juice was sweet and the spices made it tolerable, so he took a bigger drink.

Bokuto watched him with a grin, leaning on his arms and chewing on the straw. “You don’t drink a lot do you?”

Akaashi shook his head. “Not at all. Almost never.”

Bokuto laughed. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Mhm… sorry I got sick on you.”

“That’s alright, I should have probably stopped you from drinking so much… but you’re adorable when you’re all giggly like that.”

Akaashi groaned, ducking his head to hide his face. “Ugh, shut up — I hate the way I act when I’m drunk. That’s why I don’t do it!”

“Awwww.” Bokuto grinned. “Don’t hide! I like seeing your pretty face.”

Akaashi huffed. “Look, can we talk about something else?” He glanced about, searching, then said quickly, “How did you learn to samba?”

“Oh, that’s easy. There was a community class a few years ago. It was fun.”

“You do it well.” Akaashi smiled. “I was impressed.”

Bokuto laid his head on the table, smiling upside down at Akaashi. “Thank you. I like dancing with you.”

Akaashi leaned on his hand. “Mhm… I enjoy dancing with you, too. Even though I got sick, I had fun last night.”

“So, you’d do it again sometime?”

“I’d prefer not to drink like that again.” Akaashi laughed, a little too loud, and had to hold his head again, pressing his fingers to his eye sockets.

“I promise.” Bokuto reached over and took his hand, brushing his thumb across Akaashi’s knuckles. “Even though I thought you were cute before you got sick.”

Akaashi snorted a laugh and was about to tell him that he would never see him drunk again when the waitress came to the table to take their order.

 

* * *

 

After they ate, Bokuto took him back to his house to get his bag and, after a small argument in which Akaashi told Bokuto he didn’t need to be driven home, Bokuto allowed Akaashi to walk home on his own.

“I’ll see you soon?” Bokuto asked while they stood on his front porch, hand on Akaashi’s arm.

“Yes,” Akaashi smiled, bag on his shoulder, “I’ve got to wash your clothes and get them back to you, after all.”

Bokuto smirked. “How about we just take them off —”

The door was yanked open and Kuroo stood there, hair a mess, looking like he’d just rolled out of a coffin. “Bo, did you bring me food?”

Bokuto shoved him in the house and slammed the door, rolling his eyes. “Anyway,” he said to Akaashi as if nothing had happened, “Next time.”

Akaashi laughed, stepping back. “Next time.”

“Wait,” Bokuto reached for him, pulling him back, sliding his fingers up to his face and kissing him, long and slow and deep, the way that Bokuto always kissed. It left Akaashi swaying with desire as he walked home.

He spent _too long_ in the shower, and when he went to unpack his bag, preparing it for another week of classes, he found a familiar yellow hoodie with an owl on it.

Akaashi chuckled, pulling the fabric to his nose and smelling it, enjoying the lingering scent of Bokuto. Something crinkled, and he reached in the pocket and found a small slip of paper, folded into a little heart. Akaashi laughed aloud, pulling it open, and found a note written in scribbled, slanted handwriting: _thank goodness u took it off b4 u started drnkng. wear it wile u dance — it looks good on u. call me_

And, instead of a signature, was a tiny copy of the owl tattoo on Bokuto’s hand.

He lie back on his bed, held the jacket against his nose and felt the smile on his face almost hurting his muscles. He shouldn’t be so happy… he didn’t know exactly how far the relationship with Bokuto would go — or how far it should go. But, for now, he was happy with what it was.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'll ever mention the names of everyone in the Crew by name in ONE scene... so I'll list them here just so you all know who's in it and how many people it is. Bokuto, Kuroo, Noya, Tanaka, Terushima, Yaku, Daichi, Yukie, Saeko, and Kenma is their DJ.  
> I've mentioned everyone, but across two or three chapters, so I thought I'd put this here just in case. 
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

Bokuto spent the next several weeks taking Akaashi on as many dates as he could. Akaashi spent every day at the studio practicing for his audition and teaching classes so usually it was only one date a week, but it was always fun.

He took Akaashi to an arcade, to the movies, out to dinner, even to an amusement park once, making him ride shiftily built ferris wheels and spinning teacups until they were dizzy and giddy with joy. They shared cotton candy and caramel popcorn, ice cream and sandwiches, and kisses.

Many, many kisses. Soft kisses in doorways as they met, kisses filled with laughs as they spun each other while they danced, sensual kisses as Bokuto pushed him up against a wall and trapped him in his arms, kisses that literally took Akaashi’s breath away as Bokuto would pick him up and hold him against his chest.

Akaashi was learning that Bokuto actually was a good dancer. Bokuto and his crew would gather in the basement, speakers turned up loud, practicing their steps together and working up routines, but for what Akaashi didn’t know. He liked going to these gatherings, liked hanging out with the crew and getting to know them.

He learned how to handle the Three Stooges, as they were called: Terushima, Nishinoya, and Tanaka, all three of them always trying to pull pranks and getting into trouble. Nishinoya had apologized to Akaashi for getting him so drunk — he’d added many, many kings to the deck and everyone but Akaashi and Bokuto knew where they were.

After Bokuto had punched him in the arm and Akaashi had told him off, Akaashi and Noya had hit it off quite well, amiably chatting whenever they were near each other.

Akaashi also found a nice camaraderie with Kenma, and would sit with him and listen as he rambled in his quiet voice about the many, many video games he played and his work with the digital soundboard as he made music and beats on his laptop. Akaashi even showed him Oikawa’s violin pieces and Kenma overlaid them on several hard hitting beats that Akaashi liked and intended to show Oikawa.

Kuroo still gave him odd, quizzical looks, but it didn’t help that Akaashi pretty much refused to speak to him after Kuroo threatened him. Akaashi didn’t take kindly to threats, even if they were meant in good conscience,and it bothered Bokuto to no end that his boyfriend and best friend didn’t get along, but neither of them seemed too hard pressed to rectify the problem.

The two women took a liking to Akaashi and, even after he discovered that Yukie had dated Bokuto, she was only encouraging and helpful, whispering adorable anecdotes and ‘helpful tips’ to him that Akaashi mostly ignored, but stored a few away for future use. Bokuto loved eggs, for one thing. He hated the color orange, loved to paint even though he was horrendous at it, loved vodka more than any other liquor, and his favorite food was any and all meats.

But, once, Yukie pulled Akaashi aside and said to him in a gentle, serious tone, “Please don’t hurt him.”

Akaashi had scoffed. “Oh, not you too.”

“Now look, Kuroo means well, really. He might go about it the wrong way —” She had stopped, shaking her head, blushing. “Anyway, so, like, when we dated it was really fun and all that, but I just couldn’t commit to it the way he could. Bokuto is loyal to a _fault_ and you’ve got to be too.”

He squinted at her. “You cheated on him?” He wasn’t as jealous as he had been all of a sudden, but was actually a little angry with her for Bokuto, because he was too nice to be really, truly angry about it.

“No,” she snapped, “Contrary to what everyone thinks, I did not. Still…he hasn’t forgiven me. Not really. So make him happy,” she touched Akaashi’s chest, “Or I will.”

He had nearly pushed her into the wall — but had restrained himself to simply glaring until she had walked away.

Now, he sat with Kenma as they watched the crew do their routines. Kenma would flip songs on the speakers whenever asked of him, but otherwise played a small handheld game behind his laptop screen.

Akaashi had found that he liked watching them dance. Bokuto was very good at what he did, fluid and graceful in a way that Akaashi was not when he danced. It wasn’t ballet graceful, but it was a certain knowledge of his body as he moved that was intriguing to watch.

They weren’t in sync in the same way a company of ballerinas were — they were always just a bit _off_ — someone was usually doing something completely different: breakdancing, turns on their head, jumps, something to draw the eye. It was chaos, an organized chaos. It would never hold up on a stage, but in the close, crowded confines of a club dance floor, it would be impressive.

When the music died, the group laughed together, the jubilation of a well done routine. Kuroo slapped Bokuto on the back and said something to him, punching his chest lightly. Bokuto beamed, then suddenly whipped around to face Kenma and Akaashi. “Hey! What did you think?”

Kenma didn’t even look up. “Good, as usual.”

Bokuto waved a hand. “No, not you. Akaashi — was it good? Hey! What’s that called when you — oh! Critique. Want to give us a critique?”

Immediately Kuroo’s face darkened, and several shocked and disgruntled looks were split between Bokuto and Akaashi.

Akaashi himself blinked, sitting a bit straighter. “Sorry?”

Bokuto made his way over with a twisting, tip-tap of his feet instead of walking, and leaned on the table. “What did you think of our moves?”

Akaashi flicked a glance at Kuroo, but Bokuto leaned forward, blocking his view. “Uh,” he said, “I don’t know what you mean. It was cool.”

Bokuto chuckled. “That’s it? _Cool?_ ”

“What more do you want?”

“Well,” Bokuto scratched his chin, then rubbed a hand through his hair, “Anything we could do better?”

Several disgruntled shouts came from the group and Akaashi shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… I’m not really qualified for —”

“Sure you are! Like,” Bokuto bounced on his toes, as if the music was still in his bones, “Can we do anything better?”

_(Song selection: 12 Rounds - Bohnes)_

Akaashi hesitated, swallowing nervously as all eyes in the room fixated on him with varying degrees of animosity. They did not like him stepping on their metaphorical toes. But he stood, stepping around the small soundboard, and moved closer to the center of the room. “Well…” he started slowly, carefully. “First, you should get some mirrors in here so you can actually see each other.”

Someone, Yaku maybe, Akaashi couldn't tell, yelled, “We can see just fine.”

Akaashi shrugged. “I just mean while you're practicing. The ones in front can't see anyone behind them and it makes you stay out of sync.”

Bokuto considered this, giving the side wall a reluctant once over, but Kuroo stepped forward and said, “And where the fuck are we supposed to get mirrors?”

“I don’t know,” Akaashi actually laughed, “Mirror store?”

Kuroo scoffed, annoyed. “We don’t have that kind of money.”

“Well then maybe pay a little more attention to each other, hm?”

Kuroo’s scowl deepened and Terushima snapped, “What kind of critique can he give, Bo? He does that sissy shit.”

Bokuto snickered, “Yo, don’t diss what he does, Yuuji.”

No one believed him, and a few laughs tinkled throughout the room. Akaashi prickled inside at the sound, and Terushima noticed his anger. “You got somethin’ to say, pretty boy?”

Bokuto reached out and touched Akaashi’s arm. “It’s alright, they just don’t —”

“Yeah,” Akaashi said over him, frowning at Terushima, “What’s your _thing_? What are you good at?” He asked because he knew, he’d seen Terushima doing one of his _signature moves_ during the routine.

Terushima sneered and, instead of telling him, simply did it. He twisted his body and whipped around, spinning out eight turns that could have been pirouettes if they had any sort of grace.

Akaashi nodded, saying with as little sarcasm as he could keep from his voice, “Uh-huh, look at you. Congratulations.” He glanced at Bokuto, who had seen his own turns, and whose face was split in a broad grin. He made a twirling _go on_ motion with his hand and Akaashi smirked, turning back to Terushima. “Let me show you how it’s done, though.”

Several people shouted, “Oh!” and laughed, amused at Akaashi’s sass.

He ignored them, pointed at Terushima and said, “Don’t move.” And he stepped into his pirouettes, doing seven in quick succession, and when he began to slow whipping his leg out in a series of _fouettés_ in order to keep his momentum. As he hit the seventeen mark the group began to gasp, at twenty five they began to cheer, around forty they began to scream excitedly.

At almost sixty he heard Bokuto laugh loudly and say, “Alright, you’ve proved your point.”

Akaashi rounded up to fifty then allowed himself to come to a slow stop, leg pointed at Terushima and grinning. “Seven, you say?”

Terushima was laughing loudest of all. “Dude! That was amazing!” He ran forward, shaking Akaashi gently by the shoulders. “How did you do that?” No one was upset with him for showing off, nor that he was standing amongst them.

Akaashi laughed, stepping away. “That’s the beauty of discipline, my friend.”

“Dude! _Bro!_ Can you show me?!”

Akaashi glanced at Bokuto, who was grinning, puffed up with pride, and said, “Sure, I can show you. It’s all about spotting. Also —” he turned to the girls and the stronger looking men, “You guys could stand to learn some lifts for more dynamic movements.”

Saeko and Yukie exchanged looks with each other and smiled. “Sounds fun.”

He moved on to Daichi and Tanaka: “I can show you how to jump higher and control your form better midair.”

Bokuto was excited, coming over and picking up Akaashi in a hug. “If you teach us some cool stuff maybe we could win the competition again this year!”

Noya cheered loudest of all, as usual. “Yeah, screw those damn snakes!”

Akaashi laughed, holding Bokuto’s arms. “What?”

Bokuto didn’t put him down, just held him in a bear hug. “There’s this dance contest in a club we go to, and we’ve been trading off the trophy with our rivals for years! We haven’t won for three years! Three! It’s embarrassing.”

“Well yeah, you guys have a good foundation, you could win,” Akaashi said, hands around Bokuto’s neck.

Bokuto gasped excitedly. “Oh! The prize is a big pot of money, too! Maybe we could afford mirrors then!”

Akaashi laughed, but Kuroo cut him off, “Let’s just cross that bridge when we get there.” He moved over to flop down beside Kenma, leaning his head on his shoulder.

Akaashi wiggled until Bokuto put him down. “Well, Teru, I can show you how to spot right now, if you want.”

“Sure!” Terushima grinned, and several others inched forward to learn, as well.

Akaashi waited until several people were ready, then he said in his teacher’s voice, loud and carrying to be heard over their murmuring, “So! Turning is essentially done with a combination of muscles and spotting. Spotting is when you focus your sights on a particular spot and _never_ take your eyes off of it.”

Tanaka frowned, his face looking pained as he tried to consider this. “How do you do that if you’re turning?”

Akaashi demonstrated, pointing to one of the pictures on the wall and focusing his eyes on it. “All you do is keep your eyes on it.” He turned his body slowly, until it was almost painful to keep his eyes focused. “And when you have to turn, you simply whip your head around as fast as possible and try to find your spot immediately again.”

Tanaka muttered, “That looks hard.”

“It’s not hard, but it takes practice.” And he showed them how to practice, which turned into a giggling, stumbling party when many of them tried to do it too fast, got dizzy, and fell over. The only person who didn’t join in his impromptu class was Kuroo, who sat grumbling in the corner and trying to give Kenma tips on his video game.

Akaashi ignored him, though, because he knew that his talents and the knowledge the others were gaining would convince him eventually.

For the others, he taught them how to use certain muscles and horizontal motion to jump straight upwards, stacking their hips over the power of their leg and springing up instead of simply throwing themselves into the air blindly.

Then, near the end of the evening,he was talking to Saeko, Yukie, Bokuto and Daichi about lifts and how they two boys could easily lift the girls.

Saeko was hesitant. “I don’t know…seems complicated. What if they drop me?”

Akaashi laughed. “If I can do it, they can, I promise.”

She giggled. “You can’t lift me.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “I absolutely can.”

She actually stepped away from him, laughing nervously. Bokuto grinned, “Well, Akaashi is heavier than you, and if I can pick him up I can certainly pick you up much easier.”

Akaashi glanced at him, saying grudgingly, “He’s not wrong.”

Bokuto took that as an invitation and grabbed Akaashi around the waist and picked him up, holding him high over his head like Rafiki holding aloft Simba. Akaashi grunted in pain as Bokuto’s fingers dug into his ribs.

“Ow, ow, ow, Bokuto, please, put me down.”

Bokuto grinned up at him, then set him on his feet, grinning at Saeko. “See! Easy as pie.” He put an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders and pulled him tight.

“But I’ll show him how to do it so it doesn’t hurt,” Akaashi promised her, rubbing his ribs with one hand.

She and Yukie exchanged glances, but grudgingly agreed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: The Planets, Op. 32: Mars, the Bringer of War)_

Bokuto pulled the door to the dance studio open, wondering momentarily if Akaashi left it unlocked on purpose. He stepped inside, letting the door close quietly behind him and turning the latch so it locked. Moving closer to the studio, he heard music floating through the walls and stopped before he revealed himself in the doorway, watching as Akaashi danced.

He was dancing to a heavy song, moving about the floor with turns and leaps, so focused that he didn’t even notice Bokuto watching. His leg fanned high and wide, and his jumps were magical, as if he had wings and floated in mid air. He was beautiful, Bokuto thought, graceful and powerful, but… and here, Bokuto felt guilty for thinking it, but Akaashi looked … off. Strange. Stiff. He didn’t dance like that when they were together, and Bokuto wondered what was different.

Suddenly, Akaashi stumbled over his own feet and stopped, standing frustrated for a moment and glaring at his feet as if they’d personally offended him before he threw himself down on the floor and rubbed at the arch of his foot.

Bokuto took that moment to make himself known, kicking off his shoes at the door and stepping inside. Akaashi looked up, smiled, and pointed to the remote in the corner. Bokuto picked it up and turned the music off before going to sit in front of him. “You okay?”

Akaashi shrugged, still rubbing at his foot. “Fine… just tired. What are you doing here?”

Bokuto smiled. “I just wanted to see you. Want me to do that for you?” He held out his hands for Akaashi’s foot but he pulled them away.

“No, no, that’s alright.”

“Oh, come on, I’m good at massages!” He reached out, tugging Akaashi’s foot into his lap. He pulled his shoe off and pressed his thumbs into the arch of Akaashi’s foot until Akaashi groaned with pleasure and leaned back on his elbows.

“Oh, mhm, that’s nice…” He closed his eyes, humming as Bokuto’s fingers pressed into a tender spot. He muttered, “Ow ow ow,” but his face relaxed after a moment and he actually sank down fully to the floor. “Oh, God, don’t stop.”

Bokuto laughed, letting the pad of his thumb push into the muscle, rubbing circles, then curling his knuckles and stroked them hard up his arch so that Akaashi moaned again. Bokuto liked the sound, was suddenly turned on and wishing he could hear those sounds on a nice plush bed somewhere.

“Feel good?” Bokuto asked, smug, pressing into the ball of his foot, feeling the bones shift under his fingers as Akaashi twitched with pleasure.

“Yes,” Akaashi said softly, breathless.

“So, what were you doing in here, all by your lonesome?” Bokuto asked, pressing both fingers to the thick callus on the ball of Akaashi’s foot, digging one nail in just because he could and liking the feel of Akaashi’s feet: strong, powerful, graceful, well used. He had a sudden desire to bite his toes — just to see him squirm.

“I’m working on my audition piece, but I keep changing it,” Akaashi said softly, eyes closed as Bokuto rubbed the top bones of his foot, one after the other, rolling his foot between his hands.

“You said something about that before.”

“Mhm-hmm… this one is put on by several companies… hundreds of dancers come out. It’s a few cities over. But scouts come from most of the major companies. I want to be ready for it.”

Bokuto pulled his other foot into his lap and began working on it too. “When is it?”

“A few months.”

“Oh, and you’re doing it now? Wow, don’t you think you’ll be over prepared?”

Akaashi looked at him now, sitting up on his elbows and frowning. “I’m worried I won’t be prepared enough. It’s…” he looked away, sighing. “It’s never enough. I’m never enough. I need to be perfect. I have to get into a company _now_ or…”

Bokuto had stopped rubbing his feet, and Akaashi pulled them back, pulling his shoes back on with a frown. “If I don’t get in… I’ll never be a professional.”

“Well, why haven’t you been able to do it?” Bokuto asked sincerely, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

Akaashi sighed again, rubbing his ankles. “The scouts and judges always tell me that I’m … missing something.” He scowled, knocking his knuckles against his calf. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Well,” Bokuto thought back to what he’d seen Akaashi doing earlier, “You were a bit stiff.”

Akaashi snapped his eyes up to him. “What?”

Bokuto chuckled nervously. “It’s just — you looked really …uh… I dunno…” He saw Akaashi’s face darkening, then falling as he got more upset than angry. “I just mean!” Bokuto continued quickly, “It’s amazing! Of course! You’re absolutely beautiful — but — I —” he faltered, unsure how to communicate what he thought, his hands fluttering as he tried to grab the correct words from thin air, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, that’s all.”

Akaashi groaned, covering his face. “If it’s obvious even to you… then what the hell am I doing with my life, Bo?”

Bokuto blinked, stunned. This is not what he had intended. “No! That’s not what I meant. That’s not what I _said_. I said you were a great dancer. Maybe it’s just the type — y’know? Ballet is kinda robotic.”

Akaashi mumbled, “Only when I do it, apparently…”

Bokuto stared at him, at how distraught he was, suddenly curling in on himself with his head in his hands. Suddenly, Bokuto jumped up. “We just gotta teach you how to have fun with it!”

Akaashi looked up at him from the floor, frowning. “Excuse me?”

_(Song Selection: Daddy - PSY)_

Bokuto slid his way over to the speaker system, unplugging Akaashi’s phone and plugging in his own, flipping through his music until he found one of his favorite songs. He skipped back to Akaashi as the music flared loud and bouncy. “Come on!” he said happily, taking Akaashi’s hands to pull him his feet.

Akaashi laughed nervously. “This is loud music!” He continued to laugh as Bokuto pulled him around in a spin.

“It’s my _jam!_ ” Bokuto yelled over the music, letting Akaashi go and stepping into a series of movements that made his body look boneless. Then he pointed at Akaashi with a big smile on his face.

Akaashi just stood there blankly. Bokuto rolled his eyes with a grin and did it again, the whole thing, and when Akaashi still didn’t understand he shouted, “Dance!”

Akaashi shook his head. “There are no …”

“Oh! You don’t need steps.” Bokuto took his hands again, pulling him to make him move. “Just feel it! Here, do what I do —”

He pulled Akaashi with him as he moved, until Akaashi seemed to shift and begin to follow along, so that finally, finally Bokuto had him moving without thinking. He started with the dance they were familiar with together, a bouncing samba until Akaashi was comfortable, then Bokuto slid away from him, and back, pressing their bodies close as he rolled his hips. Akaashi leaned away but Bokuto hooked his fingers in his tights and pulled him back. “No,” he said, “Feel the way we move together.”

Akaashi blushed, sliding his palms up Bokuto’s chest and raising his eyes. “Okay.”

They danced together until Akaashi was breathless with giggles and giddiness. Akaashi looked happy, but he wouldn’t just let go, wouldn’t simply let his body move with the music, he always had to have choreography and steps and thoughts to mess him up.

“What the hell is that?” Akaashi laughed as Bokuto wiggled his butt at him.

“All the girls do it!” Bokuto grinned, backing up, making Akaashi laugh so loud it echoed over the music. Akaashi moved away, face red, pushing on Bokuto’s butt until Bokuto turned and pressed him against the mirror, taking his chin in his fingers and kissing him.

Akaashi sighed into his mouth, pushing his palms along Bokuto’s arms until Bokuto turned his hands and twined their fingers together. Bokuto loved the way Akaashi kissed him, like he’d never done it before every single time, always hesitant at first, as if he couldn’t remember how, but then melting into it, a smile pulling at his lips. Akaashi tugged at his hands until Bokuto freed him, then their hands were on each other.

Bokuto couldn’t get to skin because of the dancers clothes Akaashi wore, but they were so thin it didn’t matter. His hands roved over Akaashi’s sides, feeling his muscles clench as he pushed his body into Bokuto’s hands, then giggle as Bokuto brushed his ribs with his thumbs.

“Stop, stop,” Bokuto grinned against his mouth, moving his mouth to Akaashi’s ear and drawing his tongue up so that Akaashi squirmed. “Don’t laugh, you can’t laugh when I’m kissing you.”

Akaashi tugged on Bokuto’s hair. “You’re silly.” He kissed Bokuto’s jaw then gasped as Bokuto grazed is teeth across his skin. “Hey…”

Bokuto didn’t remove his mouth, and instead pressed even closer so their hips were touching. “Mhm?”

“Did you —” He pressed his palms to Bokuto’s cheeks and pushed him away. “Do you remember how I showed you how to do some of those lifts?”

Bokuto stared at him. “Lifts?” That was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Yeah,” Akaashi panted, pushing him a bit back. “I’ve been wanting to try something.”

“Uh — now?”

“Please?” he said it loud, just as the song ended, and they both laughed. Bokuto stepped back when Akaashi pushed against his chest with more feeling.“Really, I think it’d be fun.”

Bokuto shifted, adjusting his pants. “Okay, what do you want to do?”

Akaashi slipped away, going to turn the music down, but not off. “I want to try one. I’ve never done it before. I’m usually the one lifting the girl.”

Bokuto chuckled. “You’re the girl in this situation?”

“Unless you want me to lift you?”

Bokuto laughed, loud, shaking his head. “You’ll let me lift you without getting mad?”

“As long as you don’t squeeze my ribs! I had bruises. Remember what I told you, use your palms instead of your fingers.”

Bokuto didn’t really remember, he’d been distracted by watching how strong Akaashi had looked as he lifted Saeko and Yukie over his head. It seemed strange to him that Akaashi could do it at all, but it looked absolutely effortless. And sexy.

He pulled up some pictures on his phone and showed them to Bokuto. “I want to try this.”

Bokuto stared at the pictures, and his chest tightened with worry. “That looks hard.”

“Oh,” Akaashi smiled, his voice simpering and eyes glittering with amusement, “It wouldn’t be for you, surely.”

Heat coiled in Bokuto’s belly at the look on his face and he had the sudden desire to prove himself. “Okay, I can do it! Just tell me how.”

Akaashi grinned. “Perfect. So, I should have told you this lift is actually pretty complicated. It’s called the _fallen angel flip_. So we start out facing each other —”

“Wait, wait,“ Bokuto flapped his hands, “Flip!?”

“Yeah you’ll flip me in mid-air.” Akaashi said it so nonchalantly that Bokuto actually touched the back of his hand to his forehead to check if he was feverish. Akaashi laughed and took his hand. “I do most of the work, you just have to not drop me. Even if we mess up you just catch me.”

Bokuto hesitated, nervous. “Are there baby steps into this crazy flip thing?”

“Oh, sure.” Akaashi took his hands and put them on his hips. “This is where your hands go, okay? Remember what I said about the girls, you mostly use your palms. Push them together and out so that most of my weight is there instead of your fingers. Your fingers can’t lift me, but your hands can.”

Bokuto was nodding, flexing his hands and trying to commit this to memory. He felt the bones of Akaashi’s hips, strong under his palms. “Okay…”

“So, first, we’re both going to _plié_ —”

“Bend down?”

“Just the knees — remember?”

“Oh, oh, yeah! Okay.”

Akaashi placed his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders. “Then I’ll jump, and you raise your arms. Straighten and hold me directly over your shoulders. Right over your center of gravity, okay? Until you figure it out I’ll keep my hands on your shoulders for balance. Eventually I’ll take my hands off though, and you won’t drop me. Right?”

Bokuto smiled. “I’d never drop you.”

“Okay, here we go. Five, six —”

“Can you use normal numbers?”

Akaashi snickered. “Yeah, sure. Okay, one, two, three.” Akaashi crouched then jumped straight up. Bokuto found it both easier and harder than he’d thought. He knew how Akaashi felt in his arms, but it was different going directly over his head instead of held against his body. He realized his mistake the moment he made it as his arms went just beyond his head and Akaashi’s center of gravity was thrown off.

He began to fall backwards, and Bokuto panicked and lowered him too quickly, accidentally knocking Akaashi’s stomach into his shoulder. Akaashi grunted in pain as Bokuto let him slide down his body.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Bokuto said, arms going around his waist and holding him as Akaashi dropped his head onto Bokuto’s chest.

“It’s okay…” he mumbled, wheezing a bit. “First time mistakes…”

Bokuto rubbed his back. “Did you ever —”

“No.”

Bokuto inhaled slowly, and could only pat Akaashi’s back until he breathed out a deep sigh and pulled away.

“I’m okay. Try it again?”

“You sure?”

“Yup,” Akaashi said quickly, crouching. “One, two, three.”

He jumped again, and Bokuto did his best to raise Akaashi above him. It took him a moment to find the balance point, and Akaashi was dead on when he said over his shoulders. Bokuto was able to let his shoulders lower and use his chest to support Akaashi’s weight.

He was impressed with Akaashi’s core strength, since he was able to hold his body straight as a board, legs pointed and back strong. They locked eyes as Bokuto held him up and Bokuto asked, “Like this?” He was happy, his arms weren’t even shaking.

Akaashi’s voice was a bit strained, “Exactly.”

Bokuto smiled, and lowered him gently until he could slide Akaashi down his chest and set him on his feet. “Easy peasy.”

“Except that first time,” Akaashi laughed, “But we’ll chalk that up to beginners nerves.”

“I thought it was called beginners luck?” Bokuto grinned, sliding his hands around to Akaashi’s ass.

Akaashi giggled, knocking his hands away. “That’s a start, we’ll practice it until you can do it really well. Then we’ll try a running start. And, eventually, we’ll incorporate the flip.”

Bokuto hesitated, worried. “And you’re sure I can do it?”

“I trust you.” Akaashi smiled, then stood on his toes and kissed him. “Try it again?”

They did the lift over and over again, stopping only a few times for Akaashi to skip a song that he hated on Bokuto’s playlist. Bokuto’s arms were beginning to quiver at the tail end of the hour and Akaashi was rolling his shoulders with pain.

“Hungry?” Bokuto asked, reaching over and taking his hand when Akaashi looked distracted at the end of their last lift. It had gone perfectly, other than the both of them being exhausted. “Let’s go get some food.”

Akaashi glanced back at him, eyes missing his face for a moment as he pulled himself out of his sudden thoughts. “Hm? Oh, sure. I don’t know what restaurants are open this late.”

“We can get take out.”

Akaashi paused, frowning. “Eat it at the park?”

“Mhm…” Bokuto brushed his fingers across Akaashi’s knuckles, “I mean, yeah we could. But… why have you never invited me to your place? Just...wondering.”

“Oh!” Akaashi laughed. “I just never thought about it.”

“Well…” Bokuto glanced away, then smiled nervously, “Think about it?”

Akaashi snickered and stepped away over to the speakers. He unplugged Bokuto’s phone and tossed it to him. “Yeah, sure. Just ignore how messy it is.”

“I mean, you’ve seen my room.”

“And you are not a clean person.” Akaashi smirked at him, as he began to pack up his bag. “Come on, help me clean up and we’ll go. I think that noodle place is still open.”

 

* * *

 

As they walked to Akaashi’s apartment, Bokuto carrying their food, Akaashi rubbed the back of his neck and told Bokuto some horror stories of his own days of _pas de deux._ “Once this girl was doing pirouettes and kneed me in the balls at the _same time_ that she elbowed my nose. Nearly broke it, too.”

“No shit!” Bokuto laughed. “Sounds painful.”

“I couldn’t breathe right for two days. I swear I tasted blood.”

“Does that happen often?”

Akaashi shrugged, shifting the bag on his shoulder. “Sort of off and on. When you first start partnering with someone it’s always really nerve wracking, especially the ones who are new to partnering in general. Accidents happen.”

“That’s why… you weren’t mad? When I dropped you?” Bokuto looked down at him, reaching his arm over and putting it over his shoulders and pulling him close.

“No, I should have explained it a bit more. It was my fault,”he said with a smile, leaning his head against Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Well —”

“Don’t worry about it, Bokuto.” Akaashi laughed. “Really. You’ve got it down now. And it only took you, what, an hour or so? I’m very impressed.”

“Really?” Bokuto beamed down at him.

“Of course! I’m excited.” He was quiet a moment, then said softly, as if it was a secret, “I’ve always wanted to…” he stopped, sighing.

“Wanted to what?” Bokuto prodded, smiling, trying to encourage him.

“The girls always get to do the… really pretty stuff. I’m not saying I want to wear the dresses and the pointe shoes — I don’t want to be frilly. But I’ve always liked how… graceful and delicate they look. We’re the other side of ballet, the strength and the power, support, and all that. But sometimes I get… jealous of the women. I’d like to look pretty like they do.”

Bokuto smiled, leaned down and kissed his cheek. “You are a pretty little dancer, aren’t you?”

Akaashi laughed and pulled away, waving a hand at him. “Don’t call me that!” But he didn’t sound serious.

So Bokuto did it again, pulling him back and planting the biggest kiss he could on his cheek while they walked, “You’re _my_ pretty little dancer!”

“Mhm-hmm.” Akaashi grinned, slipping his own arm around Bokuto’s waist. “Okay, okay, this is my building.” He unlocked the door and stepped inside, taking Bokuto across the low lit lobby and the moldy looking elevators. It creaked dangerously on the way up but Akaashi didn’t look worried as he flicked through several screens on his smartwatch. “With the extra practice I did with you I burned a lot of extra calories.”

“Oh, is that what you use that for?”

“Yeah, that and other stuff. It’s one of those Apple watches so it can do heart rate, calories, it’s a timer, my music, lots of stuff.”

Bokuto grinned as they stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall. “You’re one of _those_ people, aren’t you?”

Akaashi paused in his attempt to jimmy open the key in his apartment lock. “What do you mean?”

“You’re an Apple guy — you’ve got the phone, the watch, the AirPods. Do you have a Mac?”

Akaashi blushed and looked away, huffing. “Yes, it’s easier to keep everything in one place. Don’t judge me.” He managed to get the lock and stepped inside, ushering Bokuto in. “Lock it behind you?”

Bokuto did, then glanced around the place, small, cluttered, but clean. Of course there were piles of shoes and clothes in the kitchen where the washer and dryer were tucked in a small cabinet, a few dishes drying on the counter, and a piece of equipment he couldn’t identify.

“Wait,” Bokuto laughed, “What’s that?” He pointed to the large black square piece of equipment that was humming in the corner.

Akaashi was pulling his dirty clothes out of his bag and adding them to the pile. “Hm? Oh, yeah, an industrial ice machine. I found it at a yard sale and got it pretty cheap. Just had to clean some mold out of it.”

Bokuto grimaced. “I… am not sure what to say. I want to ask more, but I’m too hungry.” He set the food on the counter and began pulling out containers. “Here, it’s still hot.”

Akaashi found two large bowls and they took their soup and noodles to the living room where they sat on comfortable cushions and watched a nature documentary on tigers. Throughout the meal and the show Akaashi would shift uncomfortably, wincing as he twisted his neck or shrugged his shoulders.

After a while of watching this Bokuto set aside his food and scooted over behind him, touching his shoulders. “Are you hurting?”

Akaashi glanced back at him, tried for a laugh. “Uh… well, yes, but pain is one of my best friends. It would worry me more if I wasn’t hurting in some way or another.”

“Oh, now that’s not right.” Bokuto did laugh, and pulled Akaashi further back so he could comfortably fit his fingers over the curve of Akaashi’s shoulders and press his thumbs against his neck. “Let me make it better.”

Akaashi shifted, leaning away from him. “That’s not necessary —”

“But I want to.” Bokuto grinned, holding him firmly and rubbing his thumbs up at the base of his hairline and pressing along the muscle of his neck until Akaashi sighed with pleasure and leaned into his hand.

“Okay, just a bit.”

Bokuto smiled, kissed the back of his head as he followed the muscle all the way to his shirt collar. “You should take this off, and I can do your whole back.”

Akaashi hummed. “I’ve got a leo on, I’d have to take off everything.”

“Even better.” Bokuto brushed his lips across the back of his his neck, making Akaashi shiver. He slid his fingers down his spine and pushed into the tights at Akaashi’s hips. “And I’ll rub you down.”

Akaashi let out a shaky breath, leaning into Bokuto’s hands. “Okay…” he breathed softly as Bokuto kissed him again, his hands turning to push against the knot at the base of his spine in a wonderfully firm way.

“Good,” Bokuto whispered, turning his hands to drag his knuckles up his back, “Do you have somewhere more comfortable you could lay down?”

“Ah… the couch?”

“Too small.” Bokuto smiled against his skin.

“Then…only the bed.”

“Perfect.” Bokuto pulled away, standing, reaching for him and pulling Akaashi to his feet. Akaashi turned in his arms and kissed him, wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s neck and standing on his toes to better reach his lips.

Bokuto smiled, holding him close, sliding his hands across the tight, soft fabric that covered Akaashi’s body. “What,” he laughed, “What is this? How do you wear them? Doesn’t it crush your dick?” He asked as he pushed his hands, with some difficulty, into the tights he wore to cup his ass.

“You get used to them,” Akaashi laughed against his mouth, then pushed away, hands on his chest. “Let me change, okay?”

“Don’t put on too much,” Bokuto grinned, and trailed his fingers along Akaashi’s arm as he pranced away to the bedroom, then followed along after taking a moment to compose himself at the thought of Akaashi peeling those skintight clothes from his body.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 9/10 reasons I wanted to write ballet!akaashi ;)
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Epitaph - God is an Astronaut)_

Bokuto _was_ good at massages. His hands were big and strong, and he knew enough about muscle pains to know exactly how to press against the stiff muscles and work them into pliability.

Akaashi closed his eyes and hummed, trying not to moan as Bokuto’s fingers pressed against a knot at the base of his spine, rubbing tiny circles until it burst with pain and dissipated, soothingly soft.

“Feel good?” Bokuto asked, and Akaashi could practically hear him smiling.

“Mhm-hmm,” Akaashi sighed again, “You’re better at this than I thought you’d be.”

“Well, I know what muscles hurt after a long day dancing. We don’t dance the same but we’re both human.”

“How philosophical of you, Bokuto.”

He laughed, then pressed his palms against Akaashi’s ass. “Need this rubbed too?”

Akaashi turned his head to scowl at him. “No. Pervert.” He shifted, turning on to his back and sitting up on his elbows. “Thank you, that was very nice. Really, I feel much better.”

Bokuto sat back on his heels, his eyes roving over Akaashi’s mostly naked form. “You’re very …” he swallowed, one hand sliding a hand down his Akaashi’s thigh, fingers curling around his kneecap, “Beautiful.”

Akaashi flushed, and couldn’t look him in the eye. “Uh-huh…thank you.”

Bokuto chuckled, shaking his head, his other hand trailing down Akaashi’s leg, gripping his ankle and pulling his leg straight in the air. “Just how flexible are you?”

“…You’ve seen me dance.” Akaashi didn’t know exactly where this was going, but it was unnerving to be sitting here in his underwear, legs spread wide and having a handsome guy manhandling him. But he didn't hate it. “You know how flexible I am.”

“No, I’ve seen you do turns and other shit, I saw you do the splits once. How long did it take you to be able to do that?” He pushed Akaashi’s leg forward and Akaashi unconsciously shifted his pelvis, let his hip sink into the socket so it could move easier and Bokuto’s eyes widened as he met no resistance.

“Since I was very little…” Akaashi felt his face burning, but he was also vain, and he liked showing off, as many dancers did, so he allowed Bokuto to keep pushing his leg until his knee was just past his ear.

“Holy shit,” Bokuto whispered with a reverent breath. “That doesn’t hurt?”

Akaashi dropped his head to the bed, let out a breath so that his muscles relaxed. “Not after that massage you gave me.”

Bokuto was on his knees leaning over him, his eyes roving downward, widening as they got lower. “Can I - “ his words fizzled out as he moved Akaashi’s other leg to the side, pressing his ankle into the mattress. “Shit…” he mumbled to himself, his body hovering close, the heat from his skin like a furnace.

“Bokuto…”

He moved his head down, lips brushing Akaashi’s calf, and Akaashi shivered, pressing his lips tight to not whimper aloud. No one had ever touched him like this. No one had ever kissed him like this either.

Bokuto’s tongue trailed down, dipping into the crevice of his knee, his fingers tightening around Akaashi’s ankles as he squirmed, unable to stop the sigh that escaped his lips.

When Bokuto’s teeth grazed the soft, sensitive underside of his thigh, Akaashi did moan, heat bursting in his belly as his entire body arched, his fingers clutching at Bokuto’s shoulders.

“Mhm, you taste good,” Bokuto said, his voice low in his chest, nipping again at Akaashi’s skin.

“Ah!” Akaashi’s voice came out high and breathless, his body trembling, the warmth that coiled in his body painfully unfamiliar. “S-Stop, please…”

Bokuto immediately removed his hands, and pulled away, blinking. “Oh, shit, sorry.” He held his hands up like he was surrendering. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s not —” he let his leg fall down, then pulled his legs in close as he sat up, trying to hide the embarrassment between his legs as he wrapped his arms around his knees. “I just — that felt weird…” His face was flushed, and he felt a drop of nervous sweat drip from his hairline.

Bokuto lowered his hands but didn’t move to touch him, staring at him with a furrowed, worried look. “Are you okay?”

Akaashi didn’t know. He bit his lip, buried his face in his arms, too embarrassed to speak. He was hot all over, his skin tingling, the memory of Bokuto’s teeth and tongue making his chest clench with desire.

He felt the bed shift as Bokuto moved closer, but he didn’t touch him. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s not…you…” Akaashi mumbled, “I’ve never… it’s just all so weird to me…”

Bokuto leaned closer, so Akaashi felt his breath on his shoulder. “I’m sorry… I can’t hear you.”

Akaashi let out a frustrated groan, and had to take a few moments to compose himself before he looked up into Bokuto’s face, inches from his own. “I’ve never _done_ anything with someone else.”

Bokuto blinked. His mouth opened to a small, shocked _oh_. “No shit?”

Akaashi huffed. “I don’t need you to mock me, okay? If you’re going to do that, just leave.”

“What? No, no, I wasn’t — ugh, stop, don’t look at me like that,” he touched Akaashi’s arm with his fingertips, “I’m not. Really. I was just shocked, that’s all.”

Akaashi didn’t stop glowering. “Yeah, I’m twenty three and still a virgin, ha-ha.”

Bokuto snorted. “That’s fine. But…” he paused, raising an eyebrow, “You’re not, like, against the idea are you?”

“What? Having sex?”

“Yeah, but, y’know, with me.”

Akaashi blushed again, that quiver returning to his chest. “Uhm… no. I just …”

“That’s okay,” Bokuto smiled, sliding his fingers up his shoulder and down his back, soothing. “I won’t force you to do anything. If you don’t want —”

“No, no, I do.”

“Really?!”

Akaashi flinched at how loud his voice got. “Calm down. You’re too excited about this.”

Bokuto grinned, his fingers still moving: _up and down, soft over his spine_. “Only because I’ve wanted to touch you since I saw you up on that railing. You took my breath away.”

“Shut up,” Akaashi looked away, finally dropping his knees to straighten his legs out in front of him. “I just don’t… know what to do.”

“You’ve never watched porn or anything?”

“Ew!” Akaashi snorted, heat crawling up his face, “No!”

Snickering, “It’s fun, we should do it together. So — wait, do you know how—”

“Yes! God.” Akaashi covered his face with his hands.“I know how sex works…”

Bokuto hummed, his fingers stilling at the top most bump of Akaashi’s spine. “I can show you.”

The drop of his tone made Akaashi shiver again. Bokuto’s fingers pressed into his neck, sliding gently up into his hair and he had to bite his lip and let out a sharp breath.

“Mhm…” Akaashi closed his eyes. “I… Okay.”

Bokuto’s hand spread in his hair, gentle, soothing. “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not,” Akaashi whispered, looking over, caught in the loveliness of Bokuto’s eyes, the molten gold of them. “Not with you.”

Bokuto slid his hand around to cup the side of Akaashi’s head, pulling him close and pressing their mouths together. They had kissed plenty of times, this was comfortable, so Akaashi let himself melt into the kiss, into Bokuto’s arms as he wrapped them around Akaashi’s body, pulling them close. Bokuto’s hand trailed back to Akaashi’s spine, spreading heat as it moved down over Akaashi’s tingling skin so that he moaned into Bokuto’s mouth.

He felt Bokuto smile against his mouth and cradled him as he lowered him to the mattress, kissing his way across Akaashi’s cheek, nosing the hair above his ear as Akaashi sighed and wriggled under him, nails digging into the firm muscle of Bokuto’s arm.

“Can I just touch you for a while?” Bokuto asked, lips brushing his ear, voice soft.

Akaashi nodded, already breathless from Bokuto’s kisses and the hand that slid down his throat and over his collarbone. “Okay…”

Bokuto smiled down at him. “If you want me to ever stop just —”

“Shut up,” Akaashi said, pulling him down for a kiss. Too fast, too hard, their noses mashed together and their teeth clicked before Akaashi licked his way into Bokuto’s mouth, pushing his whole hands into Bokuto’s thick hair. Parts of it were stiff with gel, but underneath it was like downy fluff, soft and plush. He loved running his fingers through it and tugging so that Bokuto shivered and pressed his hips into Akaashi’s.

It was different than when they were standing together in the doorway or sitting on the couch. This was _close,_ their breath felt hotter, the air around them heavier. This kissing was different, more desire packed behind every press of lips.

Bokuto turned his face away, gasping, muttering, “God, hang on a sec…” he lay on his side, leaning his head on his hand, “Your mouth makes me want to eat you.”

Akaashi laughed nervously, turning to face him, mirroring his head in hand pose. “Sorry.”

“No, no. I just need to control myself.” Bokuto grinned, sliding a hand up his side. “I want this to be fun for you.”

Akaashi blushed, ducking his head to hide his smile. Bokuto took the opportunity to press his lips to Akaashi’s neck. “Lay down,” Bokuto said into his skin, shifting on the bed so he was more over Akaashi.

“I am.” Akaashi twisted, mouth searching for a kiss, but Bokuto pulled away, touching his shoulders and guiding him to lay like he had been, on his stomach. At first, Akaashi didn’t like this — didn’t like being exposed and unable to distract himself with kisses — but then Bokuto’s mouth made its way across his shoulder, lips like the flowers of a petal against his skin.

Akaashi squirmed, shivering, as Bokuto blew soft words over his skin, chilling where his mouth had been. “You’ve got such delicate skin here. It makes me want to bite you all over.” He moved lower, his teeth grazing each vertebrae, then moving to his shoulder blade, and biting down harder so that Akaashi moaned softly.

Bokuto chuckled, his hands on Akaashi’s hips to keep him steady, fingers spread wide so his thumbs brushed his ass. “Sensitive, are you?”

Akaashi looked over his shoulder. “You could say that…”

Bokuto leaned down, trailing his nose across his skin, darting his tongue out to dip into the spaces of his ribcage, the muscles jumping under his mouth. “I like it. I like your skin. What feels the best, mhm?” He flexed his fingers, moving one hand over to the back of his thigh so that Akaashi’s muscles tensed and relaxed. “Here?” Bokuto chuckled, his fingers brushing up under the hem of his underwear so that Akaashi twitched.

“Ah-ah,“ Bokuto grinned, shifting downwards so he could press his mouth to the arch of Akaashi’s spine, causing Akaashi to moan softly. He found a dimple at his tailbone, and stuck his tongue in it, making Akaashi squeak and Bokuto had to hold his hips down so he didn’t roll over and knock Bokuto sideways off the bed.

“Feels funny,” Akaashi said, breathless, sitting up on his elbows to look over.

Bokuto raised his eyes, grinning. “Good, though?” He didn’t wait for the answer, he could see how much Akaashi liked it by the flush in his face. He laid his cheek on the perfectly muscled curve of Akaashi’s ass, smiling up at him as Akaashi blushed even higher, the color all the way to his ears, mottling down his throat. “I like all your muscles.”

He moved down, leaving open mouthed kisses down the back of Akaashi’s thigh, over the thick, powerful curve of his calf, and the small, delicate arch of his foot. Akaashi giggled at this, and Bokuto bit his heel, gently, just to mess with him.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi laughed softly, turning over, pulling his leg away, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Shhh.” Bokuto reached up, his hand on Akaashi’s hip, laying him flat. “I’m not done.” He made his way up the other side of Akaashi’s body, kissing his skin, nibbling on his knee and his hip, causing him to moan. He liked hearing the sound, and wanted to find each and every place on Akaashi’s body that would have him making it. Turns out, there were several: the back of his neck, the soft skin under his ear, the inside of his wrists, the crease of his hips, just under his belly button, the backs of his knees. Bokuto touched each with his fingers, kissed them, and grazed his teeth across them until Akaashi was squirming and writhing, the front of his underwear wet with his hardness.

Bokuto had never touched him there, no matter how much he wanted to. He was waiting, patient, even though he was absolutely aching with desire. He was almost dizzy with it, and laid his head on Akaashi’s stomach, loving the heat of his skin, the pounding heart beat that echoed in his chest.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi moaned softly, skin slick with sweat, his hands coming up to clutch at Bokuto’s hair. “ _Please_ …”

Bokuto smiled, turning his face to drag his tongue across his belly. “Yes, my lovely, stretchy, cute little dancer?”

Akaashi pulled on his hair, trying to guide him where he wanted. “Can you —” he stopped, panting, “I want you…”

Bokuto smiled, pleased with himself. “Do you?”

Akaashi smacked his shoulder, sitting up, hand fisted in Bokuto’s hair and pulling him up to kiss him, tugging him until he lay across Akaashi’s body, legs tangled and hips pressed together. Bokuto was broad and heavy, still wearing his clothes, and Akaashi shoved his hands under his shirt, dragging his fingers over the strong muscles over his back, feeling the way they flexed under his hands. Bokuto pulled away, sitting up so he was kneeling and yanking his shirt off. Akaashi pressed hard at stomach, his nails digging into his skin so that Bokuto moaned into his hand.

“God —” he mumbled, pressing his hands to his face, “‘kaashi, don’t do —” his words tumbled from his mouth, dissolving when Akaashi opened his jeans and pressed his palm to his length.

“You’re so …” Akaashi spread his fingers, fascinated, mouth watering, leaning forward to lick his way up Bokuto’s stomach and chest. Bokuto’s hand came up to press against the back of his head, holding him still.

Akaashi raised his eyes, caught Bokuto looking down at him, mouth slack and eyes dark with lust. Akaashi’s stomach clenched with desire and his breath caught in his throat. “Hey…” Akaashi whispered, pressing a kiss to Bokuto’s stomach.

Bokuto swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, “…Hey back.” His voice was rough and low, his fingernails scraping behind Akaashi’s ear. “You’re beautiful.”

Akaashi blushed, turning his face down, kissing his stomach, his fingers dipping into Bokuto’s underwear, mumbling a shocked word or two at seeing him up close, the flushed pink color surprised him, he’d never seen a dick this close to his face before. “Do you mind if I … touch you?”

Bokuto shuddered. “Please, God.”

“I don’t think I’m God,” Akaashi said, smiling, slipping his fingers around his length and passing a thumb over the wet tip, making it twitch in his palm. It was too long for his hand, the tip poking out over his fist, and Akaashi leaned close, wanting to taste it —

Bokuto made a strangled sound, gripping Akaashi’s hair and pulling him away. “Don’t do that.”

Akaashi paled, fear making him jerk his hands away like he’d been burned. “What!? Did I fuck up?”

“No, no,” Bokuto inhaled slowly, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. “If you did that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from devouring you.”

Akaashi blinked up at him, and could see the pulse in his throat, the way his nipples were dark and small and delectable looking, the twitching of his stomach muscles, the pulsing of his cock. Akaashi licked his lips and, while Bokuto was distracted, he leaned forward and kissed the tip, tongue darting out to lick at the salty fluid there.

And if Akaashi liked the smell of Bokuto’s sweat — the taste of his precome was that only ten thousand times better.

Bokuto moaned aloud, his entire body tensing like a wire pulled taut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh God —”

Akaashi smiled up at him. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Bokuto made a sound in his chest, a rumbling, grumbling growl. “It’s the _visual.”_

“Mhm,” Akaashi hummed a little, unsure exactly what to do with his hands or his mouth. He’d never seen a blowjob, never got one, never given one, he didn’t know what to do — only that he wanted to do it. “How do I…” He looked up, heat curling in his belly at Bokuto’s gaze on him. “Can I … “

Bokuto bit his lips, fingers tight in his hair. “Uh… like— yeah, that’d be cool but… you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Bokuto shivered again, looking away, his face bright red as he pressed a hand to his mouth.

Akaashi asked, shocked, “What?”

His hands rubbed over his face as he groaned again, then looked down at Akaashi through his fingers. “You’re too fucking cute.”

Akaashi laughed, leaned forward and opened his mouth, letting the tip slide into his mouth. It was bigger than he’d imagined, but it was good, it was nice, Bokuto’s scent and taste on his tongue, filling his head as his tongue curled around him. Bokuto’s hands came to touch his head, one sliding down to cup his jaw. Akaashi tried to dip his head like he’d always imagined it was supposed to go, but he coughed and spluttered, pulling away with tears in his eyes.

Bokuto laughed, and Akaashi snapped a glare up at him, pouting and embarrassed. “Don’t — ! Jerk, don’t laugh at me!”

“God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Bokuto took his hand, squeezing gently, still amused. “You don’t — no, it’s fine — don’t go!”

Akaashi pulled away, feeling stupid, and, feeling the mortified scarlet of his face, turned away. He flopped back on the bed, folding his arms over his chest. “You aren’t supposed to laugh at me!”

Bokuto shifted, kicking off his pants and underwear one leg at a time. “Look, look, it just took me by surprise. You’re so enthusiastic.” He reached forward, laying down beside him, tracing his fingers up over Akaashi’s ribcage as he turned away from him. “You want to stop?”

“…..No.” Akaashi pouted, but not facing him.

Bokuto smiled, hooking his fingers at Akaashi’s hips and pulling him back against him, kissing the sensitive place he’d found on the back of Akaashi’s neck. His cock pressed against the clothed cleft of Akaashi’s ass, making them both shiver. “Take these off,” he whispered against Akaashi’s ear, pleased when gooseflesh raised along his skin.

“O-okay…” Akaashi shook with tremors, but his hands didn’t hesitate as they pushed his underwear off. Bokuto helped, his hands sliding open palmed along his thighs after they kicked the garment away. “Are you going to —” his words stopped as a his body quaked with nerves.

“No, no,” Bokuto chuckled, rolling over so that Akaashi was laying on his stomach and Bokuto hovered over him, kissing down his spine. “Not that fast, I promise. We get to do other fun stuff first.” He pulled away, suddenly worried. “Wait, do you have any — please tell me you have lube and condoms.”

Akaashi turned his head. “Uh….” He looked away, his face flushed, eyes casting about his room.

“Goddammit,” Bokuto whispered, achingly hard. “That makes this considerably more difficult. I’ve got a condom in my wallet but…”

“Wait!” Akaashi sat up suddenly, then they both yelped when his head smacked into Bokuto’s jaw. “Shit, sorry, sorry.” He swung his legs out of bed as Bokuto rubbed his chin. “Lemme just look…” he pushed off the bed, affording Bokuto a nice view of his ass as he searched through his dresser. He reached into the far back of a drawer, then pulled his hand out. “Ah-ha!” he turned, triumphant, “Found it!”

Bokuto laughed, reaching for it and turning the little bottle over, reading it. “Oh, look at you.”

Akaashi smiled. “Is it the right kind?”

“Mhm-hmm,” Bokuto said, free hand reaching around and pulling Akaashi over with a hand on his ass. “It’s perfect. Now come back here, let me kiss you.”

Akaashi smiled, leaned down so they could kiss. Bokuto slid a hand up his back, hooked his fingers around his neck to hold him down until he moaned into the kiss, mouth opening and allowing Bokuto to explore his mouth with his tongue. Akaashi knelt over him, and Bokuto shifted so he could slide both hands down to cup his ass, holding him close.

“Bokuto…” Akaashi whispered, “I — I want to do more than just kissing now…”

“God, me too,” Bokuto groaned, sliding back onto the bed. “Come on, lay down.”

“How?”

“Uh… “ he let Akaashi move to the middle of the bed, “However you want.”

“Which is better?” Akaashi gazed at the bed, frowning as he thought. “Front or back?”

Bokuto bit his lip at _both_ images, his brain skipping a bit at the idea of Akaashi moaning on his hands and knees, or arching his back off the sheets with Bokuto’s fingers inside him. When Akaashi turned his back on him, Bokuto reached forward, pulling him back and biting the back of his neck in order to suppress the images in his mind. Akaashi moaned and dropped his head back onto Bokuto’s shoulder, his body arching, Bokuto’s fingers gripping his hips.

“Fuck, your body drives me crazy,” Bokuto whispered, one hand spreading across Akaashi’s tight stomach.

Akaashi nodded, panting, pushing his body back to press against Bokuto’s, then dropping to his hands. “Bokuto, please, I want you.” His arms stretched out in front of him as he thrust his hips back, looking like the best, dirtiest version of a yoga pose.

Bokuto moaned in his throat, hands roaming his body, muscles flexing under his hands, then Akaashi whimpering as Bokuto’s hands found his ass and spread him open. “Fucking _hell_.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to one cheek. “I gotta ask,” his tongue was heavy in his mouth, “Have you ever done anything to yourself?”

“Not…. Like this,” Akaashi said, dropping his face into the sheets, fists balling up.

Bokuto had to stop and breathe. Akaashi really was a virgin. His heart was gonna explode. “If it hurts too much, tell me —”

“Shut up,” Akaashi snapped, “I’ll be fine. I’m not that fragile.”

Bokuto nodded, flipping the cap on the bottle, and pausing. It still had the seal on, never been used. He pulled it off and squeezed it over his fingers, _fuck, too much_ , he was too excited. He clenched his teeth, trying to control his racing heart, and sliding his fingers down Akaashi’s ass so that he shivered. “Okay… okay, okay,” Bokuto whispered, mostly to himself, finger circling, unsure exactly how he was going to pace himself with Akaashi laid out before him like a goddamn ambrosia buffet.

Akaashi shifted his hips as Bokuto pressed a finger against him, a whine pulling from his throat. He pressed until Akaashi’s body gave a bone jarring shudder and relented, sighing out a breath as Bokuto’s finger pushed in. Akaashi’s face was hidden from him, and Bokuto hated it, needed to see his reactions to know how fast or slow he should go. “Aka—”

“Keiji,” he mumbled into the sheets, his body fluttering as Bokuto wiggled his finger a bit.

Bokuto swallowed another moan. “Keiji, I want to see your face.”

He moaned softly, but turned his face to lay his cheek on the sheet. His brows were furrowed, teeth sunk into his lower lip, bright red across his cheeks. Bokuto pulled his finger back, twisting his hand as he pushed back in, moaning as Akaashi’s body trembled.

“Hurt?”

“Yeah —” Akaashi panted, “Don’t stop.”

Bokuto bit the inside of his cheek, one hand on Akaashi’s ass, holding him open, working his finger in and out. “Fuck me,” he whispered, awed, as he touched the tip of a second finger to his entrance when it seemed appropriate.

“No, you’re gonna do that to me,” Akaashi mumbled, eyes flicking back and a smile playing on his lips. He let out a loud whine when Bokuto pushed two fingers in, slow, careful, but firm. He twisted his hand, fingers searching, until Akaashi let out a gasp and his entire body _jerked_.

“Shit!”

Bokuto smirked, pushing, tugging, spreading his fingers just a bit so that Akaashi whimpered again. He didn’t stop though, because Akaashi pushed into his fingers, rocking his hips as instinct took over. Bokuto let him move, keeping his fingers still so that Akaashi could find the pleasure he was seeking. It pleased him to no end to watch Akaashi moaning as he fucked himself on Bokuto’s fingers and Bokuto wanted suddenly to know what he tasted like.

Another time.

Akaashi moaned high and shrill as his body shivered, clenching around Bokuto’s fingers. Bokuto held his hips still, pressing his own hips to Akaashi’s ass and curling his fingers to his own pleasure now, finding the spot inside him that made Akaashi writhe and sigh and moan. He was relentless, wanting Akaashi to come on his fingers so Bokuto could watch his face and memorize the way it looked when he found his pleasure.

“There ya go,” Bokuto whispered, “Feel good, my little dancer?”

Akaashi couldn’t answer, his mouth worked, jaw falling open as his eyes clenched shut. Bokuto smiled and snaked one hand around, wrapping his fingers around Akaashi’s cock, and with only a few strokes he was throbbing in Bokuto’s hand, clamping down like a vice around his fingers so hard it hurt, coming with a long, low moaning wail all over his sheets.

When he was through, Bokuto kissed his hip, slowly pulling his fingers mostly out. “Are you okay?”

Akaashi didn’t answer, only panted into the sheets, rubbing his face and rocking slowly. Bokuto smiled against his skin, touching the tip of a third finger to his entrance.

“No,” Akaashi stuttered, swallowing hard, turning to look at him, “No more — I want you…wanna feel you.”

Bokuto’s heart clenched in his chest. God he wanted it, too. He hesitated, though. Akaashi was still new to this, and Bokuto himself wasn’t…. _small_. He bit his lip, frustrated because he wanted Akaashi’s first time to be good, as little pain as possible. But also because his balls ached with the need to release. Ohhhhh, the dilemma. “Not … yet, baby,” the name slipped out, his brain too muddled to properly think straight.

Akaashi whimpered, but his eyes were on fire as he said, “I want to. Get your condom.”

Bokuto blinked, then started as Akaashi pulled away, turning over onto his back and picking up the bottle. He sat dumbfounded as Akaashi slicked up his own fingers and reached down —

“Kou,” Akaashi snapped, “ _Now_.”

Bokuto fell off the bed in his haste to snatch up his discarded pants and dig out his wallet. By the time he made it back on the bed, Akaashi had three whole fingers pressed inside him, knuckle deep, moaning so loud his voice cracked. His fingers weren’t as big as Bokuto’s, but they were longer, and he knew how to stretch and twist his fingers to chase his arousal as his dick hardened again.

“Ah, fuck, oh, shit, oh, my God, Keiji,” Bokuto mumbled, leaning over him, kissing his open mouth to suck the moan from his throat, bite at his lower lip and touch his fingers to Akaashi’s, feeling as Akaashi pleasured himself. “You can’t do that in front of me, God, gonna make me —” He stopped as Akaashi reached over and clutched at his cock, drawing a loud gasp from Bokuto’s throat. “Stop, stop,” He pulled his hand up and kissed it, “If you want me to —”

Akaashi grinned, “Fuck me?”

Bokuto fell on top of him, kissing him. Akaashi pulled his hand out and Bokuto tangled their fingers together, sticky with lube, as Bokuto placed himself between Akaashi’s legs and he hooked his ankles around Bokuto’s hips. He shifted so that Akaashi could maneuver himself and then choked when Akaashi looped his legs around Bokuto’s neck. “Uh — I can’t — see,” Bokuto managed, even though he loved feeling Akaashi’s toes in his hair.

“Oh, sorry,” Akaashi laughed, removing one leg and pulling it up to his face.

Bokuto moaned at the sight of Akaashi practically tucking his ankle behind his _own_ head.

“Is this better?” Akaashi grinned.

“Fuuuuck,” Bokuto slid a hand down his leg, ripped open the foil wrapper and somehow managed to find enough blood left in his brain to put it on correctly. “If it hurts at all —”

Akaashi reached down, gripping him in his long, nimble fingers and lining him up without ever breaking eye contact.

Bokuto clenched his jaw, rocking forward as Akaashi dropped his head back, mouth falling open as the tip just pressed inside. Fuck, it was too good. Akaashi was tight and hot, Bokuto’s brain flipping sideways as he closed his eyes so the sight of the place where they were connected didn’t drive him mad.

Akaashi’s body tensed, his back beginning to bow before Bokuto held him down, rocking slowly, pressing inside Akaashi’s warmth. Akaashi’s body was greedy for him, sucking him down even as his eyes squeezed shut with pain. He mumbled incoherent words, but his leg held Bokuto close. Finally, his hips pressed against Akaashi’s ass and Bokuto leaned forward, mouth searching, latching onto one of Akaashi’s nipples and sucking. Akaashi bucked, throwing his head back, wailing, swearing pleasantly.

Bokuto _liked_ how flexible Akaashi was. But still, he pulled Akaashi’s other leg up so that Akaashi could loop both of the around Bokuto’s neck. His fingers searched blindly until both hands found Akaashi’s, twining them together and pressing him to the mattress with his body.

“Feel so good…” he said against Akaashi’s skin, trailing kisses up to his throat as he rocked his hips, not pulling out, just moving for the pleasure of it.

Akaashi opened his eyes, blue sapphires alight with desire, pupils blown wide with lust. “Koutarou, kiss me.”

Bokuto obliged, almost choking on his tongue as Akaashi clenched around him, using the leverage of his powerful dancers body to thrust his hips, starting a slow, deep rhythm.

“Shit,” Bokuto swore, meeting him with his own body, thrusting hard so that Akaashi yelped.

He said quickly, “Don’t you dare stop!” even as Bokuto paused, worried he’d hurt Akaashi, “I’ll beat you with my pointe shoes if you stop.”

So Bokuto didn’t stop, and worshipped Akaashi’s body like it was holy writ, finding that he could handle Akaashi any way he wanted, he was so bendy, his muscles so warm and pliable that nothing hurt him. Bokuto took advantage of that with mouthwatering results, finding two different positions he’d only dreamed about in his wildest imaginations.

Akaashi came a second time lying on his side, in a full split with Bokuto fucking him and sucking a bruise into his calf to mark his territory. He’d made several, with each one Akaashi squirming underneath him.

“Kou- _ah_ \- shit!” Akaashi gasped, panting, unable to draw in a full breath, not caring, moaning as Bokuto filled him. He’d never felt this before, he’d thought he’d had orgasms before, jerking off in the shower or into his hand after wet dreams and tangled sheets at his feet.

Cumming with Bokuto inside him was nothing like that, it was ten times better, twenty times, a thousand times, so much that he didn’t even care that he wouldn’t be able to dance tomorrow.

Probably not for a week.

He was wrecked, falling apart from the inside out, with Bokuto right there to hold him together. His skin was on fire, burning all over, Bokuto’s hands and mouth lighting new fires everywhere they went. Bokuto knew what he wanted and now that he knew that he wouldn’t break Akaashi he took it, and Akaashi was nothing but happy putty in his hands.

When Akaashi twisted onto his stomach, his hip twinging with pain until he managed to straighten both legs, Bokuto spread his palms on Akaashi’s ass, breathing out a moan. “God, fucking, look at you. So pretty. God, you’ve come twice, can you —” He grunted, thrusting harder, huffing as Akaashi’s body clenched, “Fucking hell, can you do it again?”

Akaashi whined, hands roving over the bed, unable to find anything to hold onto and gripping the sheets in his fists, toes pushing on the mattress, trying to find leverage and unable to with Bokuto kneeling over him. He arched his back as hard as he could, until Bokuto’s powerful thrusts hit the sensitive place inside him, and he screamed, and again as Bokuto hit it again.

“There?” Bokuto panted, pressing his fingerprints into Akaashi’s hips, holding him in place so he could find that spot again. Akaashi couldn’t answer except with more moans of pleasure, his voice breaking as his entire body began to shake, quivering as the fire inside him raced through his veins. Bokuto pushed him into the sheets so that each thrust rocked his oversensitive cock into the bed. He couldn’t come again — too much — too soon — all over — everywhere. Bokuto was _everywhere._

His hand roamed upwards, fingers pressing into the back of his neck, spreading into his hair. “Keiji, baby,” Bokuto moaned, “Please, I know you can do it… you’re so close — I can fucking _feel_ it.”

Akaashi whimpered, shivering, dropping his face into the sheets and closing his eyes. Bokuto’s thrusts were erratic, his breath harsh, his fingers clenching tight in his hair. Akaashi let his voice rise, unable to stop it, as Bokuto slammed his hips down — once, twice, three times, and stilled, trembling and pulsing inside him. As Bokuto’s orgasm punched out of him, Akaashi’s flowed over him, like a wave, cold and hot, his body fluttering at the sheer length of it.

Bokuto huffed, gingerly removing his hands. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

Akaashi moaned out a soft, “Shut up.”

Laughing, Bokuto brushed his knuckles over Akaashi’s spine through the sweat and felt the quivering of his muscles. He pulled his hips back, both of them groaning — until Bokuto could fall away, pulling the condom off and stumbling to the bathroom to dispose of it. He came back to the bed, leaning over and kissing Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm-hmm…” Akaashi’s eyes were closed, his breathing coming in long, purposeful waves.

Bokuto chuckled, pressed his lips to his cheek for a long moment in a gentle kiss. “Be right back, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Bokuto smiled, going back to the bathroom and digging through the cabinets until he found the box of epsom salt Akaashi kept for his muscles. He figured it would be the same thing as sex, so he poured a generous amount into a nice bath he drew, steaming with hot water. He went back to the bedroom, noticing how he had to concentrate on his knees so they didn’t give out. He trailed his fingers down Akaashi’s spine to wake him up. “Hey, sleepy head, come on. Let’s take a bath.”

Akaashi peeled one eye open to look at him. “Huh?”

“It’ll be good for your muscles. And other things. Come on.” He scooped Akaashi up into his arms, cradling him as Akaashi leaned his head on Bokuto’s shoulder with a grimace. “You okay?”

“…hurts a bit,” Akaashi admitted, “But it was worth it.” He looked up, smiling, kissing Bokuto’s jaw.

In the bath, Bokuto stepped in, the steaming water making his toes tingle, but he sank down, cradling Akaashi against his chest. Akaashi twitched when the water covered him, but relaxed after a moment, sighing in pleasure.

“Ohh… you’re being so good to me,” he looked up, smiling, “I’m glad you’re not one of those _hit and run_ guys.”

Bokuto laughed. “I don’t think that’s the right phrase, but I would never leave you after something like that.” He kissed the soft curve of Akaashi’s throat, licking at the sweat there, nibbling on his ear. “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger after that. I’m forever yours.”

Akaashi grinned, humming in pleasure. “You’re ridiculous.”

“How was it, though?” Bokuto asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Pftt,” Akaashi spluttered, “What the fuck do you think? I had three orgasms, I’m half dead and happy.”

Bokuto grinned, pleased, wrapping his arms around Akaashi’s chest and holding him close, snuggling down into the warmth of the water. “That makes me happy.”

Akaashi paused, turning his face to look at Bokuto. “Was I any good?”

Bokuto blinked, and wanted to sink into the water and drown himself. “Oh my God.” He pressed his forehead against Akashi’s shoulder, shaking with laughter. “That’s what you’re — ha!” He giggled again and Akaashi huffed.

“I just don’t have any experience!”

“You were great, don’t worry about that. I’d do you again in a fucking heartbeat.”

Akaashi nodded, leaning back and soaking for a while, enjoying the feel of Bokuto’s body, the fingers that traced over his stomach and chest. Finally, he asked, “Any tips for me?”

Bokuto snorted a laugh, almost inhaling water and laughing so hard the water was displaced and splashed onto the tiles.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

Akaashi lay flat on the floor of the dance studio. The cool of the hardwood seeped through his tights and into his muscles, soothing, but not enough.

It had been two days since he'd seen Bokuto, but everything still hurt. His workouts had been effected the first day, and he was glad he was technically a teacher so all he had to do was show up and talk. Now, in the evening after all the young classes had gone but before his advanced classes came he rested, half asleep on the floor.

He shifted, rolling to a cold spot on the floor and groaning at the ache in his back, and he heard the door open, but heard familiar voices so he didn't bother getting up.

“Uh…” one of the dancers, Yahaba, leaned over him, “Are you alright?”

“Just half dead.”

Yahaba chuckled. “You need help?”

Akaashi sighed. “How long till class?”

“Five minutes or so.”

“Just wake me when you need me…”

He laughed, and moved off. Akaashi could hear the others around him, chatting as they arrived, getting their shoes on and stretching, waiting for him to start class. He had every confidence that if he never got up that they would go through it on their own. They were good that way.

After a time, someone else was over him, prodding his side. “Keijiii.” It was Suga. Of course. “What's got you down?”

Akaashi opened his eyes to look at him, haloed in the light from above. “I'm exhausted.”

Suga chuckled. “That's what rehearsing twenty four seven will do to you.”

“It wasn't dancing.”

Something in his tone or face must have given it away, because Suga grabbed his arms and attempted to haul him up. “Oh my _God!_ ”

Akaashi scrambled to get his feet under him as Suga dragged him up, pulling him to the tiny bathroom in the studio and crowding him in. Akaashi had to press himself against the counter and Suga while he closed the door then Akaashi leaned heavily on it.

Really, the bathroom was too small for one person, let alone two.

“Are you hurt?” Suga asked frantically, worry clear in his features.

“What?” Akaashi asked, confused, a little flustered at the sudden flurry of activity. “No, I'm fine. Just —”

“Did _he_ hurt you? That man? What's his name? Bokuto!” Suga looked suddenly angry. “I’ll call the police.”

Akaashi stared at him, then laughed. “No! No, of course not. We,” and here he stopped, feeling the flush of embarrassment rising in his cheeks, “Calm down, Suga, I promise he's not hurting me.”

Suga searched his face, then folded his arms with frustration. “Then why are you acting so weird? I've never known you to rest during practice.”

His cheeks burned hotter and Suga blinked, then gasped loudly, so loud that Akaashi worried what others outside thought they were doing.

“You did it!” Suga yelled, beaming. “Did you like it?” He snickered. “That's why you haven't moved much, eh?”

Akaashi looked away from him, folding his arms. “Maybe.”

“Ha! Congratulations!” Suga patted his chest enthusiastically.

Akaashi groaned and waved at him, trying to shoo him back in the tiny space. “Stop it!”

Suga practically hopped up and down in his excitement. “I’m so happy for you! Was it good? Did you like it? Did you do it more than —”

“Sugawara!” Akaashi shouted, holding up his hands. “Stop, please.”

Suga smirked, holding his fingers close together. “Just a teeny bit of information?”

Akaashi looked away, unable to meet his gaze and feeling like his face was about to catch fire. “It was great, I loved it, only once, but we’re going out again soon.”

Suga threw his arms in the air like Akaashi had just scored a touchdown in football or a goal in soccer. Akaashi huffed and pushed him away so he could squeeze out of the bathroom. Oikawa was right there, grinning like an imp.

“You were listening —” Akaashi spluttered, then scoffing and pushing past him. “Do _not_ say a single word!” he shouted as he stalked to the stereo and fumbled for the remote.

 

* * *

_(Song Selection: Above & Beyond - Bassnectar)_

 

The music pounded through the floor as Akaashi let himself in the front door of Bokuto and Kuroo’s house. He didn’t have to ask where Bokuto was and made his way to the basement door. When he opened it and stepped down the stairs they vibrated underneath him with the bass, and he stopped at the bottom to watch the crew dance.

They had been rehearsing for weeks for whatever competition they were going to. It was only phase one, you had to perform well in order to acquire a pass or a ticket or invitation to the championship. They were doing well, much more in sync since Akaashi had found several chipped mirrors at a yard sale and they had tacked them to the wall in the fashion of dance studio mirrors. They weren’t perfect, but they were better than nothing, and they were helping the dancers already.

The lessons about levels were helping too. They had several things going on at once, but it wasn’t overwhelming to the senses and gave the entire routine an elaborate sense of disorder… but in a good way.

He waited until the music stopped before he stepped more fully into the basement. Bokuto saw him in the mirror and turned, shouting his joy. “Keiji!” He strode over and swept Akaashi up in his arms, as enthusiastic in seeing him as if it had been two years since they’d seen each other rather than two days.

Akaashi smiled at him, arms around his neck. “Hey, good to see you too.”

Bokuto hugged him tight, then set him down, kissing his cheek. “Did you like it? What’d you think? How was your day? Are you hungry?”

Akaashi had learned to deal with Bokuto’s many questions. The best response was to answer the one that he really wanted answered first and gradually work their way to the other questions that were less important. He had to guess at which Bokuto thought was most important.

“Yes,” he said, stepping away from the close embrace under the scrutiny of the others gazes, “I liked your routine, it’s very good. Very dynamic.”

Bokuto’s smile widened, his arms still around his waist, fingers trailing over his back. “Any other thoughts? Ideas? Improvements?”

Akaashi hesitated, trying not to smile, “I couldn’t —”

“You’ve got ideas though, don’t you?” Bokuto grinned, because he knew Akaashi did.

So Akaashi told him, “I mean… just one or two.”

Scoffs were heard from the group but Bokuto looked pleased. “Like what?”

Akaashi pulled out of his arms. “Well, I had this … it’s not a real idea, okay? It’s just — you know that part in the music where it’s all,” he paused, thinking back. “The piano comes up a bit more and it’s a bit softer?”

“Mhm-hmm.” Bokuto stepped back as Akaashi flipped his hands, thinking through the steps in his head, moving towards the rest of the group. Only a few of them were giving him odd looks, and Kuroo was outright glaring at him, but he ignored them and pressed on.

“So that part where it gets, for lack of a better word, gentle, it could become a sort of love story.”

Kuroo actually snickered. “You’re joking.”

“No.” Akaashi snapped, his eyes flicking between the girls, knowing that _visually_ Yukie would look better beside Bokuto, she was a bit taller and would fit with him better, but he didn’t like that idea for … personal reasons. “Saeko, come here. Bo, you too.” He pulled them over and Kenma played the music, not quite so loud.

“So, yeah, here,” Akaashi pointed towards the music. “Everyone sort of… crunches in?” He wasn’t sure how to describe the image in his head. “Like everyone bend over and make a formation — and as the music goes on, every other count, peel off and go do something low-key, off to the side, and near the end of the eight count Saeko and Bo can stand and do a little mini —” he stopped, unsure of the non ballet term for _pas de deux, “_ Thing. Dance. Together. More gentle than the rest of the routine, since it’s so hard hitting. Even a lift or two — and when the music stops for a beat, and when it comes back — everyone else does like… like an explosion!” He knew he was rambling, he couldn’t help it. He hated trying to describe his ideas. It was easier to just show them.

He told Kenma to back the music up to just before the part and pulled Bokuto to stand beside him. “Know that part about, oh, thirty seconds in? When you all do those few eight counts together?” He huffed at Bokuto’s face, “Don’t ask me what an eight count is — you know what it is — but do that again, just softer. Same steps. Okay?”

Bokuto nodded, eyes focused on him, and even when the music hit their queue and they began to move he didn’t take his eyes off him. It was a little more difficult for Akaashi, who hadn’t seen their steps often, and was now attempting to change the feel of them and do it backwards so that every step was the same and the exact opposite of Bokuto’s, so that they were in perfect opposition. He couldn’t do the sharp, jabbing motions well, and so he softened his elbows, knees, and spine, let his head roll with the movements. As the final turn came he diverged from the steps and moved toward Bokuto, who immediately reached for him. Akaashi turned in his arms and, on instinct, because he felt safe here, because he trusted Bokuto, crouched and jumped.

Bokuto did not disappoint, but held him easy and firmly, high over his head, fingers spread wide on his spine as Akaashi arched his back and let his breath fall out of him as his arms spread over his head. He knew he could fall, they’d never done this particular lift before, but he also knew that Bokuto would keep him safe.

Bokuto lowered him onto his shoulder and let Akaashi slide down his body while his hands roved over his front, displacing the t-shirt he wore, face pressed to his neck. After the closeness of their last encounter, the new familiarity they had with each others bodies, the touch tingled like electricity over Akaashi’s body, rippling down his back and stomach and making a fire spark low in his belly.

But they both felt it — the rhythm, the dance, the need to move with it — the song still played, and as the section of piano ended and the bass came back fast and hard Bokuto slid away and, only feeling slightly foolish, Akaashi threw himself into the real hip-hop part of the dance — his flats weren’t made for it, his shirt got caught, his face felt weird, but he didn’t stop — chest popping and arms tense with the movements, stomping into the floor and feeling like a lunatic and a madman and truly free for just a moment … until that section was over and embarrassment flooded his entire body. He’d never done that before. He must have looked like a complete idiot in front of these people.

Kenma killed the music and several people cheered, some whooping with affectionate approval. Nishinoya ran over and leapt on him in a fierce, affectionate hug as he shrieked with laughter. “That was bitchin’!” he yelled, right into Akaashi’s ear, then yelped as Akaashi lost his footing and they both toppled to the ground. It didn’t stop Noya, though. “I didn’t know you could dance like that!”

Akaashi groaned, pushing Nishinoya off him as he sat up and pressed a hand to his hip where he’d landed hard. Damn, between Bokuto and his friends he was really putting his body through the ringer worse than normal. “I’ve never done it, but I’ve seen you so…”

Tanaka was right beside him, crouching and looking interested. “Seriously? That was awesome!”

Saeko was frowning nervously at them. “I don’t think I can do that… lift thingy.”

Bokuto smiled, but it wasn’t for her, it was for him, his eyes caught on Akaashi like he’d never seen anything so marvelous and wonderful. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to. That was just a …”

Akaashi smiled back, suddenly shy at the look of adoration of Bokuto’s face. “We practiced some similar lifts a few days ago,” he clarified, trying to keep his voice steady.

Bokuto came over, reaching for him, and Akaashi allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “That was cool! I liked it.”

Kuroo snorted from somewhere out of sight but Bokuto ignored him and suddenly asked, “Do you want to dance with us?”

An outcry erupted from the dancers. Clearly they admired Akaashi enough to enjoy watching him and would allow him to teach them simple things, but did not want him invading their territory.

“No,” Akaashi said firmly, before Bokuto could try and dissuade his friends from their displeasure. “No, I can’t. I’ve got too much going on, anyway.”

“Oh…” Bokuto sounded disappointed, but he forced a smile. “That’s fine.”

“Yeah, we can figure it out,” Kuroo butted in, stepping forward.

Bokuto turned to face him. “But I really like what we did, minus the lift thing, but the slow bit. I want to do it. Do you think you could?” he asked Saeko and she nodded. “Great! We’ll start that next time.”

No one seemed to argue with him other than a disapproving look from Kuroo, so it was settled. Akaashi had noticed that, while he wasn’t strictly the _boss,_ the others looked to Bokuto for direction, for leadership, so his word, if unopposed, would tend to be the way of the group. Akaashi wondered if Bokuto had searched out the position, or if it had simply come over time, because of his personality.

The group moved towards the series of tables and the small television, shifting from rehearsal mode into their relaxation mode. Akaashi moved half with them, but his heart was racing now, his body aching to move. He waved Bokuto off as he moved away, turning so he felt like he had some semblance of privacy. The mirrors on the wall were at waist height, so he couldn’t see his feet, but that was fine. He knew what he looked like.

He went through his new audition piece in his head, walking through it and counting it out under his breath. It was… done. It was perfect. No, it wasn’t that — but the steps were there. The technique was right. But he still didn’t know if it was good enough. He doubted himself, and he hated that part of himself for that. It could only hinder him.

His piece was supposed to be about being true to yourself, and being brave enough to stand up as who you were, but he didn’t feel that way. Not really. He had no idea who he was, so the whole thing was a lie. He was a dancer — but that’s it. And, really, he wasn’t even that since he’d never made it into any sort of _real_ company. His heart clutched in his chest at the thought and he shoved it down along with the bile that rose in his throat. No, he would just have to make it work.

“What are you doing?” Saeko asked him, standing just far enough that he could have pretended he was too focused and not heard her.

But he didn’t, and looked up. “Just thinking about something else. Sorry, did you want help with something?”

“No, no.” She smiled, pulling a small lollipop out of her mouth before she spoke again. “I just wondered… what you really do. Bokuto says you’re a wonderful ballet dancer.”

Akaashi glanced over his shoulder at the group, but Bokuto was engaged in animated conversation with Kenma, who wasn’t returning the animation quite as much, simply nodding along to whatever Bokuto was saying. “Well, I am a ballet teacher.”

“Is that all you do? Teach?”

Akaashi hesitated, sighing. “No. I’m working on an audition piece to try and get into a company.”

“Really?” Saeko asked excitedly. “Can you show me?”

“Uh…”

“Oh, please! It’d be so cool to see you in your element.”

He frowned, flipping his finger over the volume buttons on his phone, trying to find comfort in them at the sudden nervousness that rose in him. “I mean…”

“Do you have your music?”

“….it’s on my phone.”

“Kenma can play it!” She stepped forward, smiling big and holding out her hand for his phone.

He stood still, frozen, fearful, nervous, and unsure why. He knew this dance. Why was he nervous? He thumbed through his apps until he found the song and then gave it to her. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

But she was already walking away, calling loudly, “Kenma! Play this! Everyone shut up!”

Akaashi flushed and pressed his hand to his face, groaning. Saeko handed the phone to Kenma and he took a moment to plug it in and connect to the speakers.

_(Song Selection: Stand in the Light — Jordan Smith)_

When the song started all heads turned towards him and Akaashi felt his entire body tense. He shouldn’t have done this. This wasn’t right. He was in _their space_ —

But his body moved on instinct as the music swelled and he stepped sideways, into an spinning arabesque. He moved through the steps, unable to really see himself in the broken, layered mirrors, and hyper aware of the audience watching him. This was different than just Bokuto — he didn’t judge him.

These strangers did. He could feel their gazes on him. But his body didn’t care quite so much. He felt his feet moving through the motions, legs strong as he leapt across the vast space of the basement. His breath came easier as the dance went on, his eyes forgetting to glance at the small audience, his heart swelling with the sheer joy of dance.

It was the same… and different. The steps were the same, but it felt different, this close to other people, being watched, unable to see himself, and able to lose himself in the motions. He felt lighter with it, like a weight lifted. When he went into his series of pirouettes the spot he chose was Bokuto — easily found in the small crowd as he stood, watching Akaashi with rapt attention.

Across the room, Bokuto watched him, fascinated at the movements. He’d seen this dance before, but it was better now, somehow. Akaashi looked happier, or at least not as worried about what he looked like. Or his technique? Bokuto didn’t quite understand, but he liked this better than the studio version.

Beside him Kuroo huffed, but didn’t say anything. He had his eyes on Akaashi, too, his face purposely blank, and Bokuto knew that if he wasn’t saying anything, it was only because he couldn’t think of anything bad to say. Kuroo was protective, overly so, and Bokuto had had more than one talk with him over short course of his relationship with Akaashi. But Bokuto could see that Kuroo only wanted what was best for him, and could only reiterate again and again that it _wasn’t_ Yukie or anyone else Kuroo was trying to set him up with.

By now, Bokuto was almost positive that what was best for him was … Akaashi. A proper job would be nice, but that was a problem for later. For now, Akaashi was with him, right in front of him, and they spent as much of their time together as was possible. Bokuto hadn’t felt this way … ever. The painful throb of his heart every time they parted, the tingle of his lips at that last kiss that lasted right up until they were reunited. He was overwhelmingly happy when Akaashi was with him, so much so that the joy eclipsed all other thoughts and feelings the moment he saw him.

But still...the ache didn’t leave when they were together. If anything, it became a stronger, more specific type of pain that wasn’t pain at all. It was the knowledge that someday Akaashi would leave. He was training to leave, after all, to travel the world. And Bokuto wanted him to achieve his dream, even if it meant leaving him behind. That was fine, he would be okay… maybe. He would make it okay, happy in the knowledge that Akaashi would be happy. Was that love? Would it be right to tell him…? No, probably not. Not if it would hold him back.

When the music ended Bokuto moved forward, and as Akaashi stilled at the end of his dance, chest rising and falling with deep, satisfied breaths, Bokuto crossed the distance between them and took his face in his hands to kiss him. He could feel Akaashi’s fluttering heart under his flushed, sweat slicked skin. It only made him press his fingers harder, holding him there so Bokuto could try to match their heartbeats.

Akaashi gasped into his mouth and Bokuto took it from him, gave his own breath in return. His fingers clung to Bokuto’s sleeves, holding himself up as Bokuto made his knees go weak, and Bokuto’s hands left his face to wrap securely around his waist to hold him up.

“Bo—” Akaashi gasped, turning his face away, cheeks pink, eyes bright.

The spell broken, Bokuto heard his friends behind them, whistling, Tanaka calling out something crude and then a _thud_ and an _ow!_ as someone chastised him for it. Bokuto allowed himself to be pushed away, fittingly, because someday Akaashi would do the same as he left to board a plane to Paris or New York or London. Somewhere where a stage awaited him.

Akaashi took his hand, though, and Bokuto pulled him back to the group where Saeko was clapping loudly.

“Brava!” she yelled, gleeful, “That was so cool!”

Nishinoya, too, was smiling. “I didn’t know you could jump like that! And how’d you do that jump kick thing.”

Akaashi was flushed pink with embarrassment. “Which one?”

“The — !” Noya jumped up, but Daichi grabbed his shoulder to hold him down. “Where you like turned all around and you bent all backwards.”

“Oh —” Akaashi laughed, “That’s actually called the butterfly jump. Easy name, hard jump.”

“No doubt!”

They continued to talk, and several of them wanted Akaashi to show them how to do some of the more impressive looking jumps so they could do their own versions of them. Bokuto stopped listening though, content to sit and watch him, hand on his neck, fingers playing with the damp hair at his neck. He wondered how long he’d get to have Akaashi to himself. Not long enough, anyway. Anything other than forever wasn’t enough.

Beside him, Kuroo laid his arms on the table and nudged him with an elbow. Bokuto glanced over, hating to tear his eyes away from Akaashi as he talked so animatedly about his passion with a rapt and engaged audience.

“Hm?”

Kuroo shrugged, voice low so as not to disturb the others. “You sure you’re happy?”

Bokuto wanted to smack him. “Of course. Look, I didn’t give you this much flack when you started seeing the little weirdo over there.” The little weirdo must have heard him, because he looked up from his game and cut his eyes at Bokuto, who only shrugged and smiled to show he didn’t mean anything by it.

Sighing, Kuroo laid his chin on his arms. “Alright, then. I’m happy for you.”

Bokuto smiled, pleased. “Thanks.” Then Terushima waved a hand wildly to get his attention.

“Do you have anything to eat?”

Bokuto had to think a minute. “Moldy bread?”

Saeko snorted a laugh. “No matter how much Kuroo tries to grow penicillin he won’t be able to do it. Not in your cupboard.”

“Hey, now, that could save your life someday,” Kuroo said with a sniff.

“Not when I can get it at a _hospital_.”

Terushima said, “But we can’t eat it. I’m hungry now.”

Kenma was on his phone, tapping at the screen. “Still plenty of places open. Want me to get us a table online?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bokuto said. “You’ll come with us?” He tugged gently on Akaashi’s hair.

“Sure,” Akaashi smiled back, and the table exploded as Noya, Tanaka, and Terushima raced upstairs to see who would get shotgun in the car.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

 

_(Song Selection: Nocturne, Op. Posth. C-Sharp Minor: Lento - Chopin)_

Bokuto pressed the call button to Akaashi’s apartment several times before he got an answer.

“Yeah?” Akaashi’s voice finally came through, staticky and far away.

“Hey!” Bokuto said back, probably too loud. “It’s me!”

There was silence a moment, then the door let out a shrill buzz and opened for him. Bokuto rode the elevator up to Akaashi’s apartment and knocked, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t told Akaashi he was coming, they hadn’t made plans, but he had brought his favorite movies and some popcorn for a surprise date, and hoped that Akaashi wasn’t too busy for him. It’d been almost a week since they’d seen each other, having only spoken sporadically on the phone since they were both so busy with their various rehearsals.

The door opened a crack and Akaashi glanced to make sure no one else was around before reaching out and pulling Bokuto inside. Bokuto saw immediately why he didn’t want to be seen. He was only in his underwear, or something small and clingy like it.

“Uh —” Bokuto blinked, confused, unsure if he should feel jealous or aroused or angry or what. “Am I interrupting something?”

Akaashi huffed, closing and locking the door then padding to the kitchen. “Yeah, but since you’re here you can help.”

Bokuto almost dropped his popcorn in surprise. What the fuck — was Akaashi cheating on him? Was he about to stumble into a _ménage à trois?_ No matter how much the idea appealed to his baser instincts, the more rational part of his brain screamed its fury at the idea of someone else touching Akaashi, and he was about to say so when the look of his ass in the tight, tiny shorts tied his tongue. So he set aside the DVD’s and popcorn packets on the hallway table and followed Akaashi into the kitchen.

Akaashi pointed to an over large bag filled to bursting with ice. “Help me out?”

Bokuto stared at it. “Huh?”

“Can you pick it up?”

“Uh…” Bokuto glanced around, baffled. “Probably?”

Akaashi nodded, and waved a hand for Bokuto to do so and follow him. Bokuto hefted the sizable bag — it was heavy, but not too much for him — and chased after Akaashi into the depths of the apartment. “Put it here, please.” Akaashi pointed to the claw foot tub in his bathroom.

“Why?” Bokuto asked, stopping beside it while Akaashi unzipped the top and let the ice begin to pour into the half full bath. He saw towels laid out, two jackets, socks, gloves, and fuzzy fleece pants. It looked like a pajama party for an evening in the snow. “What…. are you doing? Is someone else here?”

“What?” Akaashi looked up at him, reaching his arm in the bag and finding the last pieces of ice. “No, of course not.”

Bokuto dropped the bag as Akaashi took several deep breaths, as if to steady himself. He raised his foot, about to step into the ice bath, but Bokuto grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “What the hell? That’s freezing!”

Akaashi chuckled. “I’m aware.”

Bokuto tugged Akaashi against him when he saw gooseflesh rise on his arms. “You’re already so cold! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Leaning against him, laughing. “It’s an ice bath for recovery. I’ve done it loads of times.”

“Why?” Bokuto shrieked, appalled. “It’s _ice_.”

“Bo, it’s okay.” Akaashi was still laughing. “Let me go.” He patted Bokuto’s chest until he was released, then stepped into the bath, gasping as he lowered himself inch by inch. Bokuto flinched when his crotch went under and shifted in sympathetic pain.

“Uh — care to explain?” Bokuto asked once Akaashi was fully submerged, only his face and hands out of the water.

When Akaashi spoke, his voice was jerky with cold, “Mhm-hmm. Yeah, an ice bath is —” he inhaled sharply, eyes closing, shivering. “It’s for… muscle — mhm — recovery.” He reached over and touched a button on his watch and it beeped at him.

Bokuto crouched beside the tub, reaching a hand in and wincing. “It looks awfully uncomfortable…”

Akaashi opened one eye, smiling at him. “It is. But it’s worth it. Do you know how—” he gasped as Bokuto moved his hand, swirling the water. “Stop that!” He slapped Bokuto’s hand, as if scolding a child, then tugging his hand out and held his wrist.

“Cold?”

“Unbelievably.”

“So… why do you do this? Wouldn’t a warm bath work just as well?”

Akaashi shifted, the ice clinking, his breath gasping out. “Uh, well, that would certainly feel better. But ice reduces swelling and pulls lactic acid”—a shiver wracked his body—“the waste that your muscles produce when you — ugh — exercise. And when you get out”—another shiver—“fresh oxygen rushes to the muscles so it heals faster.” He inhaled slowly for a few breaths. “God, I think there’s too much ice. It’s colder than — hmmm — usual.”

“Did I fuck it up?” Bokuto blanched, worry bursting in his chest. “Oh, God, did I kill you? Are you gonna die?”

Akaashi huffed out a breathless laugh. “No, no. I’ll be fine.” He glanced at his watch, making a note to himself. “But when I get out I’ll be — really cold.”

“I’ll warm you up!”

Akaashi smiled. “G-good.” His teeth were beginning to chatter. “Six minutes…”

Bokuto watched him, how his face was pale, all the blood rushing to protect his heart and other vital organs. “How often do you do this?” He reached up and cupped Akaashi’s cheek, then pressed both his hands to Akaashi’s face when he felt how cold he was.

Akaashi smiled, leaning into his hands. “Mhm…whenever I work too hard…”

“You work too hard every day.”

“Ha. No, I mean like… Oh, I dunno. Once a month, at least, I guess. Back when I did shows I did it after each one so I could be ready for the next night.”

Bokuto stood, moving behind him to hold his face up, leaning down to press their cheeks together. “That’s crazy. You’ve got a lot of dedication. Oh, but I knew that.” He smiled, holding Akaashi steady as he shivered.

Akaashi closed his eyes, sighing into Bokuto’s touch. “You’re very warm,” he whispered shakily.

“How long now?”

He glanced at his watch, and Bokuto saw the timer counting down. “Two minutes. You gonna be okay?”

“Mhm-hmm…”

Bokuto held his cheeks while he watched the timer click down, too slow for his liking. Akaashi shivered harder, then stopped, and closed his eyes as he tried to breathe normally, even though his body was wracked with shakes. When the alarm beeped Akaashi gasped, turning it off with shaking hands.

Carefully, so as not to hurt him, Bokuto slipped his fingers underneath Akaashi’s arms and helped pull him to his feet. Water and ice sloshed off him, pieces clattering out of the tub and onto the tile when Bokuto helped him out. He picked up a towel and wrapped it around Akaashi’s shoulders, patting him to dry him faster.

“Shit, you're almost blue,” he said, crouching to rub at his legs with more towels.

Akaashi chuckled. “I am not. Just let me dry off.” He leaned against the counter, gooseflesh rising on his body, then he gasped as Bokuto reached for the shorts he wore, still wet and clinging to his skin. It took several tugs for Bokuto to get them down his thighs.“What are you doing?” If he had any blood that wasn’t protecting his organs it surely would have flooded to his face.

Bokuto smiled up at him even as Akaashi pulled the towel lower to cover himself. “Gotta get you out of your wet clothes, that’s all.” He wiped the water away from Akaashi’s legs, then carefully from each of his feet. He helped him into the fluffy pajama pants, then pulled off his own hoodie and tugged it over Akaashi’s head.

“Aren’t you going to get cold?” Akaashi asked, his face beginning to flush the softest of pinks as his body warmed up.

“No,” Bokuto smiled. “I’ll be fine.” He pulled the hood up over Akaashi’s head and paused, enraptured at how wonderfully kissable he looked in that moment, swallowed by Bokuto’s high school jacket. He tugged Akaashi close and held him against his chest, nuzzling his way under the hood so their faces were pressed close. Akaashi’s cheeks were still cold, his body shivering minutely as his nerves came slowly to life.

Akaashi hummed happily, pressing his hands up under Bokuto’s t-shirt, his fingers climbing up his skin, searching for the warmest place. “Oh man, why didn't I call you to come earlier? You're a furnace.”

Bokuto laughed. “Come on, then, let’s get you out into bed.” He scooped Akaashi up into his arms and carried him out of the bathroom and to bed, tucking him underneath all the blankets he could find. He made sure to go back and close the bathroom door to lock in all the cold coming off the bath and the tile. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he went to the door, glancing back and laughing when he could only see Akaashi’s eyes peeking out from over a heavy crochet afghan, his body wrapped in a warm duvet and looking like he was about to transform into a butterfly of comfort.

He managed to make popcorn without burning it, make tea without spilling it, find Akaashi’s laptop, gather the DVD’s from the table, and not drop any of these things when he went back to the bedroom. Akaashi took the tea from him and made a noise of protest when he dropped the laptop and DVD’s on the bed.

“Hey, that’s expensive…” he mumbled, holding the cup gingerly in his fingers.

Bokuto plopped beside him, spilling some popcorn and garnering an aggravated look from Akaashi until he picked it all up. “It’s fine. It plays DVD’s right? I brought some of my favorite movies over.”

Akaashi picked through the stack with one hand, shaking his head at some of the more ridiculous titles, until he stopped at one and frowned at it. “What’s this?”

“Oh my God,” Bokuto gasped. “You’ve never seen Clue? It’s amazing! Tim Curry is _great_ and Madeline Kahn is hilarious. Christopher Lloyd is in it, too! It’s like that board game.”

“Oh.” Akaashi smiled, handing it to him. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s great fun.” Bokuto opened the laptop and waited for Akaashi to put in his password. He leaned over, dropping his voice to a whisper, “Nothing _weird_ is going to pop up is it?”

Akaashi glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Huh?”

“Were you watching anything dirty?” Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows.

Akaashi rolled his eyes, his face blushing red as a tomato. “N-No.” He looked away, sipping his tea, flushing somehow even deeper when he muttered into the cup, “I told you I’d wait to watch that stuff with you…”

Bokuto beamed, laughing loudly as he tucked himself against Akaashi’s side, carefully so as not to jostle him and spill his tea or the popcorn bowl. “Wanna watch that instead?”

“I don’t want a _virus_ on my computer, thank you very much. Let’s just watch the funny movie.”

Bokuto kissed his cheek as he slipped the movie into the DVD slot. Akaashi pressed into his side and Bokuto took a few minutes to untuck him from the blankets so he could wrap them up together instead. The music began on the movie and Bokuto put his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, laid his cheek on his head, and tried not to recite the lines along with the actors.

 

* * *

 

_(Song Selection: Omega - Violin Mix, DJ Manifesto)_

 

Akaashi stretched his back, groaning as it popped when he twisted sideways. Bokuto was right beside him, leaning close, voice loud over the music. “Can we do it again?”

“Seriously?” Akaashi laughed, but he wasn’t fully against the idea. “It’s been two hours.” He needed to rest, really. But he’d always been bad it. The audition was in a few weeks, he knew he’d have to take a break two days before to make sure he was in top form. At least, that was always the _plan_.

“Yeah,” Bokuto said. “But I think I’ve almost got it.”

Akaashi smiled, wiping his sweaty hands on his shorts. “You do, I’m impressed.” They’d been practicing the flipping lift that Akaashi had taught him. They’d moved on from static lifts to full on running starts — the first time with mats underneath them and Akaashi’s heart in his throat. But Bokuto had held him firmly, eyes wide with his focus and hands firm on Akaashi’s hips and back. After an hour of great lifts Akaashi had taken away the mats so they could attempt to work it into a small routine he made up, just to see what it would be like.

Bokuto had loved it, and didn’t complain even when Akaashi had him do it again and again, the same steps, until he didn’t have to think about them. That’s what Akaashi needed if he was to trust him with the fast, dangerous lift.

After the steps had been mastered, Akaashi had slowly allowed the lift to be practiced, but still, after two and a half hours they had only done it in full once: the dance, the spinning _jéte_ Akaashi did right before the lift, Bokuto stepping in and practically throwing him in the air, and the moment of stillness of the lift, Akaashi spread out on his palm, then the slow lowering, being safely cradled against Bokuto’s strong frame.

Bokuto was smiling at him still, eyes wide and bright with the excitement of success. “Please? Once more?”

Akaashi laughed. “ _One more time_ is infamous for never being the truth.”

Bokuto’s smile only grew wider, and Akaashi had to take a moment to lean over and stretch his spine out, hiding his laugh. When he came up he said, “Fine. One more. It’s late and I really have to eat. We can get some food and go back to my place, since it’s close?”

“Yes!” Bokuto yelled, too excited, moving back to his starting place in the center of the large space. Akaashi took a moment to let him find his feet placement then restarted the music. It was a strange piece, one made by Oikawa’s sweet, soft violin overlaid with heavy beats and sounds from Kenma’s soundboard. As the music hummed the beginning notes, they were both still, eyes fixed on one another, and the music took it’s slow steady build into rhythm. When the real song began, they moved, simultaneous, towards one another, and Akaashi couldn’t hide his smile at the look of glee on Bokuto’s face.

They were used to each other now. It didn’t matter what they were doing: walking, or sleeping, dancing, or sex, they were as acclimated to each other as atoms joined together into molecules. Bokuto held him close when he was supposed to and, when they parted, his entire focus was on Akaashi, so much so that Akaashi felt like he had to do the same if he didn’t want the dance to fall through. Watching Bokuto was easy, it was the best thing he’d done since he’d nailed his last audition that had got him a part in an international tour several years ago.

The music rose steadily to it’s crescendo. The moments before the lift weren’t still, they were fast and discordant, far apart so that Akaashi had ample room for a run up. The steps were good, they were in sync, it all felt good.

Until it didn’t.

Akaashi was already in the air, Bokuto’s hands on his hips. Something was wrong. Bokuto’s hands were slick with sweat, and even though Akaashi tried to make it work, twisting in the air….it wouldn’t work. Halfway through the turn, just as he was supposed to catch him, Bokuto’s hands slipped. The world went sideways. Akaashi fell, his ribs knocking hard into Bokuto’s shoulder and they both let out a grunt of pain.

Bokuto couldn’t catch him fast enough, the angle was far too awkward. By the time he’d managed to get an arm around him Akaashi had already hit the ground — hard. He’d managed to catch himself on his elbow and palms, felt skin tear on his hands from the hardwood. His foot, however, seared high and hot with pain. He groaned and rolled onto his side, pushing Bokuto away.

“Oh, God, Akaashi, are you okay? I’m sorry — I don’t know what happened!” His hands hovered, unsure, then he sat back when Akaashi snarled at him.

Akaashi sat up, wincing, pulling his feet around to the front and wincing as liquid fire filled his foot. He’d landed hard on his toes, at _just_ the wrong angle. He knew the pain of a broken toe, that was familiar, but the deeper, more intense pain higher up in his foot was different than anything before. He grit his teeth against the pain, pushing back tears that threatened in his eyes, swallowing them down as he pulled his shoe off.

Beside him, Bokuto gasped softly. Bright red bruises spread along the side of his foot, blood pooling out of broken vessels. The straight edge of a displaced bone showed tight against the skin. Bokuto whimpered softly, reaching for him, but Akaashi slapped his hands away.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped. He pulled his foot closer, teeth catching hard in his cheek, drawing blood that burst bright and sharp in his mouth.

Bokuto stood, wobbling. “I’ll call an ambulance…” He grabbed his phone from the speaker and stepped out of the room, leaving a silence that thrummed the air in his wake.

Akaashi curled over his foot, gripping his ankle as hard as he could — the pulse of blood sending pain with each beat of his heart. When he felt droplets landing on his fingers he opened his eyes, finding his vision blurry, and tears overflowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLUE, as I've said in my other stories, is my favorite movie ever and I'll put it in every story if I can. Everyone go watch it to deal with the sadness until next week ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

 

_(Song Selection: A Lover’s Complaint - Max Richter)_

Akaashi couldn’t get Bokuto’s haggard face out of his mind.

It stuck with him through the bumpy ambulance ride, the painful x-rays, the agonizing setting of broken bone, the wrapping of the cast, and the doctor’s methodical, perfunctory explanation of his injuries: three broken toes and a displaced fifth metatarsal fracture. An injury which would keep him off his feet for six to eight weeks, take a few more weeks to fully recover, and, at his age, it was possible he would never regain a complete muscle regeneration.

“I don’t believe you’ll have a limp,” the doctor said, “but we can never be too sure. Just allow the bone to heal and don’t push yourself too hard when you can walk again.”

Akaashi sat on the small table in an otherwise featureless room, the cast on his foot drying, feeling pathetic and pitiful. His foot didn’t hurt as much as it should have because he’d gotten some pain medication in the ambulance and it still hadn’t worn off. “Thank you,” he said to the doctor, leaning his head back against the wall.

The doctor held the black film up to the light, looking at the broken image of Akaashi’s bones. “You’re no stranger to broken bones, I’d say.”

“I’m a dancer.”

“Ah,” the doctor chuckled, nodding. “I see.” He slipped the film into a file and patted Akaashi’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright, it’s a clean break, it should heal fine.”

“Thank you,” Akaashi said again, feeling the hollowness of his voice but unable to care.

“You said your friend was coming to get you?”

“Mhm-hmm,” Akaashi flipped his wrist over to check the notifications on his watch and saw the text: _be there soon!_ He said, “He’s on his way.”

“Okay. Stay here until he gets here, then take this to the front desk to check out.” He laid the file on the table beside him. “I’m sure you know how to use these,” he said it with a smile, motioning to the crutches a nurse had brought that were leaning against the wall. He was trying to make a half hearted joke of some sort, but Akaashi didn’t get it and only nodded, so the doctor left him alone.

Akaashi sighed, heart heavy, glaring at his cast even as his vision went blurry with tears again. Six weeks. Longer, really. He’d miss the audition. There was another year down the drain, and that’s _if_ the scouts came back next year — they could easily go to another city too far away for him to travel to. Another year of just _teaching_ , of stagnating. This could be the end of his career. He’d be twenty five, twenty six by the time he got into a company now, and that’s if he was lucky.

Even if he did, he’d have a few years with the company, but he’d never get a lead role in his first few seasons. Then, by the time he’d been there long enough to deserve it, he’d only have one or two seasons before he would be replaced by a better, younger dancer. He’d have only a few years with the company as a whole, probably schlepped off into the chorus as if he was just a part of the crowd.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his fingers, pressing his hands into the painful nerve of his eye socket, trying to dislodge the migraine that was building there. Maybe that’s all he deserved… to be just a part of the chorus. Maybe he wasn’t special. Maybe he wasn’t as good as he’d been led to believe by the teachers of his past. Maybe he’d just quit. Was all the pain, blood, sweat, and tears worth it anymore?

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts and the door opened.

“Keiji!” Suga gasped, coming in and reaching over to hug him. “Sorry it took so long. Are you — oof, ouch.” He winced at the brilliant white cast on Akaashi’s foot.

“Did you get the key?”

“Oh, yeah.” Suga reached into his pocket and held out the little silver key to the dance studio, his face morphing into a worried expression. “He was really upset.”

“I’m sure,” Akaashi said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He dug through his bag for his keyring and manipulated the key back onto it, much easier than when he’d taken it off. “Was the studio cleaned okay? I sent Jun a text but he hasn’t responded yet. I assume he’ll see it in the morning.”

Suga shifted uncomfortably. “What are you going to do about your classes?”

“I don’t know, Suga… I’ll talk with Jun about it tomorrow… you can teach them, if you want.” Akaashi looked up at him, shrugging. “You’re good enough.”

Suga blinked, not hating the idea, but looking like he felt uncomfortable with the idea of taking it away from Akaashi. “I could use the money…”

“Perfect. I’ll settle it tomorrow.” Akaashi shifted, moving off the table and holding a hand out for the crutches, which Suga handed to him.

“But… I meant about Bokuto,” Suga said, stepping back to give Akaashi room to maneuver, then picking up his things for him and slipping past, holding open the door.

Akaashi frowned, concentrating on blocking out Bokuto’s face instead of walking, because he’d used crutches enough to not have to think too hard about moving in them. They made their way to the front desk where Akaashi gave them his credit card to pay for what his insurance hadn’t. It wasn’t bad, but it was more than he could afford. He’d be eating rice and ramen for weeks, no more takeout for him.

“I’ll go get a cab,” Suga told him, stepping outside the large automatic doors.

Akaashi waited for the receptionist to finish his paperwork, and Bokuto’s face came back to him again, along with an angry, stabbing pain in his heart. His emotions were too jumbled to think about him just this moment, but he couldn’t help it…

… _Bokuto rushed back into the studio, kneeling beside Akaashi, hands hovering uncertainly. “They’re on their way.”_

_“Okay,” Akaashi said, leaning away from him. He inhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to the floor then sitting up. “Help me to the lobby.”_

_Bokuto reached for him, and Akaashi had to force himself not to pull away. He picked Akaashi up carefully, cradling him like a child, every step as gentle as he could make it but it was still jarring to Akaashi’s rapidly swelling foot. He set Akaashi down in one of the chairs and unlocked the door, peeking out as if the ambulance would have gotten here in two minutes instead of the ten or so it should have taken them._

_Akaashi’s foot_ throbbed _, aching, making his heart race. He checked his heart rate and grit his teeth against the pain. “Hey,” he called, “Can you go get my stuff?”_

_“Sure!” Bokuto nodded, scurrying off to gather Akaashi’s phone and clothes and bag, bringing them back in a heap in his arms. “Anything else? I’m so sorry —”_

_Akaashi cut him off: “Spot sweep?”_

_Nodding, looking worried, Bokuto stepped away again, glancing over his shoulder as he vanished into the studio._

_Akaashi inhaled slowly, trying to soothe his racing heart, pulling his keys and phone from his bag. He found the instant ice pack he kept in there and shook it until it was cold and laid it gently on the most painful and colorful part of his foot, wincing with the pressure but not taking it off. Then he texted Suga, asking if he was still awake, then set it aside to try to wrest the studio key from the keyring with shaking hands._

_His phone dinged before he’d even picked the right key out:_ what’s up?

 _He replied, having to stop and start over when his fingers kept tapping the wrong keys,_ I’ve got to go to the hospital. I need you to do something for me.

_Suga called him immediately. “Are you okay!?”_

_“I will be,” Akaashi said, pulling out his headphones and sticking one in his ear so he could use both his hands. He couldn’t get this damn key off. “I fell, hurt my foot. I need you to come to the studio to lock up. I’ll leave the key for you.”_

_“I’m on my way, then.” Suga said, and Akaashi heard him moving around, talking softly to Oikawa, explaining, while Akaashi struggled with the key._

_Finally, he managed to yank it off the metal ring. “Then could you come get me from the hospital? I don’t know how long it’ll take…”_

_“Absolutely. So, studio, key, hospital. You’ll have your phone?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Okay,” Suga paused, then his voice went soft as he asked, “Will you be okay?”_

_It was more than just a simple_ okay. _It was everything. Would he dance again? He didn’t know. “I’ll see you soon. We’ll talk then.”_

_“… Alright.”_

_He hung up, turning to look out the window, but the ambulance still wasn’t here. He leaned his head back, groaning at the pain that came and went with ever increasing intensity. He could hear Bokuto moving around, muttering to himself and sweeping, gathering up the leftover clothes and discarded pieces of paper and sports tape from the classes of the day. They’d cleaned the studio enough together, always the last two to leave, that Bokuto knew how to do it. So Akaashi breathed slowly, envisioning oxygen pushing into the pain in his foot, spreading cool relief where it went._

_It didn’t work, but it was worth a shot. He stayed like that, trying not to scream or break his teeth, until he heard Bokuto coming back._

_He crouched beside Akaashi, who refused to open his eyes, and whispered, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.”_

_Akaashi only inhaled a slow, steady breath._

_“Keiji? Are — hey, I’m sorry, really.” He touched Akaashi’s arm and suddenly Akaashi jerked to life, yanking away from him and hissing in pain as his foot protested the sudden movement, the ice pack thankfully not dislodging too much._

_“Just stop.”_

_Bokuto’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as he tried not to let the frustration out in tears. “You’ll be okay…”_

_Akaashi whipped his head to him, glaring, felt the hot pricks of tears behind his eyes. “Shut up!” he snapped, the pain rising suddenly in a wave of anger that he’d tried so hard not to give voice to. “I’ll miss my audition now —” he scoffed. “_ One more time, _huh? Yeah, great. Now I’ll be a teacher forever. Thank you, Bokuto.”_

 _He_ hated _the sick pleasure that coiled in his belly at the sight of Bokuto gasping and reeling back, falling onto his butt like the very first time they’d spoke in the studio. He looked away, his jaw working. “But… you’re a good teacher. Is that so bad?”_

 _The rest of the anger rose up, evolving into absolute fury as it clawed its violent way up his throat. “No!” he really shouted now, “It’s not okay! It’s not — “ He swallowed, willing himself not to say the words even as they flicked off his tongue. “What would you know, anyway? You’re just a loser who spends all his time in his_ basement _getting drunk and fucking around with his friends.”_

_Bokuto stared at him, his frustration and sorrow flattening out, his face going slowly blank as Akaashi’s words sank into his mind and he began to withdraw into himself, hiding from the words. They stared at each other for too long, before Akaashi huffed and turned away, folding his arms and deciding to sit silent until the ambulance arrived._

_Bokuto tucked his feet under him, kneeling with his head bowed, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists on his thighs._

_They stayed like that, both brooding, until Akaashi heard a car outside. Bokuto heard it too, and said gently, “Let me help —”_

_“No,” Akaashi said, too quickly, making Bokuto flinch. “They’ll bring something. Here.” He held out the little key. “Wait here for my friend to come. He’ll get the key from you and make sure everything’s done before you leave.”_

_Bokuto took the key, his mouth turning down when Akaashi didn’t let their hands touch. “Wait, you don’t want me to go with you?” His face fell even further as he spoke, if that was even possible._

_Akaashi was saved the painful answer as the EMT’s came in, seeing immediately Akaashi curled on the seat and coming over. Bokuto rose to his feet and stepped back, giving them space as they put Akaashi’s foot and ankle in a splint and asked him the basic questions: Allergies? Any other injuries? Medications? Last time you ate or drank anything? What happened?_

_At the last one Akaashi simply told them, “Occupational hazard.”_

_One of the men nodded, accepting this, and they hoisted him out and into the ambulance. Bokuto followed, distraught, every muscle of his being tense and worried. “Keiji…”_

_Akaashi couldn’t look at him. “Make sure Suga gets that key.” Out of his periphery he saw Bokuto’s entire body twitch, as if Akaashi had slapped him. He might as well have. The doors closed on him, and Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut, Bokuto’s face, crushed and heartsick, already seared into his mind._

“Sir?” the receptionist said, and Akaashi opened his eyes, taking the papers and his cards back from her. “We’ll mail you any outstanding bills.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, then grumbling when he realized Suga had his bag and he had nothing to do with the papers. He rolled them into a tube and stuck them in his pants, then hobbled out the doors. Suga waited for him at the curb, and helped him into the backseat of a cab, stowing his crutches in the trunk before getting in beside him.

“Hungry?”

Akaashi leaned against the window, not caring how dirty it probably was. “… I need to eat, but I’m not hungry.”

“Do you have anything at your house?” Suga asked, wincing with Akaashi as the cabbie didn’t bother avoiding a pothole.

“I’ve probably got something,” Akaashi said through clenched teeth. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s no problem. Oikawa was asleep anyway, I wasn’t doing anything,” he smiled, trying to make Akaashi feel better.

“Mhm,” Akaashi hummed. “Once I get home I’ll be fine.”

Suga nodded, fidgeting with his hands, tapping his nail into the screen of his phone. “So… Bokuto told me… what happened.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Akaashi said, turning away to stare out the window.

“He feels really, really bad,” Suga told him in a whisper.

“He should.”

Suga sighed. “Keiji, come on, it was an accident.”

Akaashi turned to frown at him. “I _told him_ I didn’t want to do it again! He wouldn’t let it go! And then he —” he voice caught in his throat and he had to swallow hard and try again, “He _dropped_ me. He…” He looked away, pressing his fist into his leg, like Bokuto had, the nails of his hand hurting as they made cresents on his palm. _he promised me he wouldn’t drop me…_

Suga sighed, reaching over and touching his hand, pulling his tense fingers apart and spreading them flat. “I know…”

Akaashi sniffed, trembling, frustrated. “I just want to go home.”

“We are,” Suga promised him, stroking his fingers gently. “They gave you some medicine? For the pain?”

“Yeah…”

“When we get to your place you can take some, we’ll get some food in you, and you can go to bed. I’ll stick around until tomorrow to make sure you’ve got everything you need.”

Akaashi nodded, his hands almost clenching again, but Suga pressed his thumb into the pad of Akaashi’s palm. “You’re too good to me…”

“I’m as good as I need to be for my friends.”

Akaashi looked over, and let himself smile. “Thank you.”

Suga smiled back, patting his hand. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Several people have pointed out my error in the Japanese Healthcare system that, at the time of writing, I was ignorant of. I promise I'll fix the errors as soon as I have the time! So for now... suspension of disbelief and creative liberties and all that. >.>


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: The Dumbing Down of Love - Frou Frou)_

A week.

It had been a week. For the first two days Bokuto had texted him every few hours, many variations of:

_u mke it hme ok?_

_how r u?_

_im sorry…_

_4 everythng_

_i hope u_

The last one Akaashi wasn't sure what Bokuto was trying to say. He thought that he hadn't meant to send it, but he didn't know because Akaashi hadn't responded to any of them.

At first, it was because he was too angry. He had been betrayed, and _dropped_ , and he hated how he'd trusted someone else with his career. With his _life._

But the anger dissolved eventually… he could only taste the bile of it for so long before it physically made him ill. However, even worse things replaced it.

Loneliness was at the top of that list. He missed Bokuto, missed their ridiculous conversations and Bokuto’s boisterous laugh and the way he made Akaashi laugh, too.

He was embarrassed, too, at the way he'd lashed out at Bokuto. He hadn't deserved it, and hot shame seared his insides when he thought about the things he'd said. Things that he didn't really mean. Of course he didn't. But it didn’t change that he’d said them, that Bokuto’s face still haunted him, so broken that Akaashi didn’t know if it would ever be mended. He wished he could take them back.

Bokuto had left his DVD’s, hoping that they would watch them all together, even a few dirty ones that Akaashi hid underneath his bed. Akaashi had tried to watch some of the other movies, _The Hangover_ , the last Harry Potter movie, _Deadpool_ … but it wasn’t as fun to watch them without Bokuto explaining random behind the scenes facts and quoting half the movie at him. Instead he curled up with his laptop, hugging it close as he watched CLUE on repeat over and over, letting it play even when he was drifting in and out of a drug addled sleep, the songs and lines floating in through his dreams. By now he could almost recite the movie as well as Bokuto, including being able to hum along with the score.

His phone vibrated and he reached for it, knocking everything off his bedside table in his blind effort to find it. It was a text from Suga: _what cha doing?_

Akaashi almost didn’t answer, glaring at the bright light and sighing. Finally, he typed out an answer with one hand, then yelped when he dropped his phone on his face.

_sleeping_

_You’ve been sleeping for days! We’re coming over._

We — Akaashi groaned. All he needed right now was Oikawa heckling him about… well, all the things Oikawa always heckled him about.

 _Please dont. Just wanna sleep,_ he typed, but never even got to send it because there was a buzz at the front of the apartment. Several buzzes, which meant someone was either pressing his call button over and over, or running their hands over the entire building’s buttons in order to entice someone to buzz them in.

Someone did, and Akaashi knew he only had a few minutes before they were at his door. So he pushed his laptop away and hauled himself up from bed, grabbing what he hoped was a clean shirt and hobbling on his crutches to the front of the apartment. Everything was dark, and he hated the slight smell of day old laundry and dishes from his kitchen, but he could barely stand on his own… much less do the damn dishes.

He leaned against the door, pulling his shirt on (then taking it off again and turning it the right side out before replacing it again) and waiting, impatient, until he heard footsteps outside. Then he opened the door and frowned at Suga and Oikawa’s smiling faces.

“What if I hadn’t answered?”

“I can pick a lock,” Oikawa said happily.

Suga nudged him with an elbow. “Shut up, no you can’t.” He held up a bag and Akaashi’s stomach clenched involuntarily at the smell of hot food. “We brought dinner.”

Akaashi leaned aside and hobbled into the apartment, his two friends following him. Neither of them commented on the state of his apartment, but he noticed how Oikawa went around the living spaces turning on all the lights and Suga began surreptitiously putting dishes in the dishwasher as he unpacked the dinner they brought.

Akaashi sat on the couch after Oikawa steered him towards it and pushed him down.

“Now, now, teacher, don’t hurt yourself.” His tone was _almost_ condescending, but his perfectly poised smile threw Akaashi’s sarcasm radar off.

Suga came in with several containers and handed a box to Akaashi. He smiled when he saw it was his favorite sushi — one that he hadn’t had in a long time. Suga knew him well, though, and while they ate he filled Akaashi in on all the things going on at the studio.

Everyone, of course, sent their well wishes. The small children of the day classes had pooled together their _boundless_ resources to make him a get well card. It was cute, if a bit scribbly. Jun had told him that his job would be waiting for him when he got better, of course, so nothing to worry about there.

All Akaashi had to worry about was running out of money before he could go back and get a half pay by supervising or doing the paperwork of the studio. “And how are you doing?” he asked Suga before stuffing a piece of sushi in his mouth. He hadn’t been as hungry as he usually was, probably because all he did was sleep now, but that didn’t mean he was going to let this delicious meal go to waste.

Suga shrugged, eating his own food. “Good. I think I’ve finally stopped changing the choreo for my piece…” Oikawa shot Suga a look and he paled. “I mean,” he stuttered, unsure what to change the topic to.

Akaashi tried to smile. “It’s alright. Just because I can’t audition doesn’t mean I don’t want you to succeed. I know you’ll do well.”

Suga blushed, but nodded, pleased to have someone to talk to about it. “I wish you would come to the studio and see it. Give me an honest crit, y’know? You need to get out of your apartment.”

Akaashi sighed. “You realize I’ve broken my foot?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t go places,” Suga said.

Oikawa interjected with a laugh, “You just need an extra half hour to get there!”

Akaashi scowled between them and stuffed another piece of sushi in his mouth. They laughed, they’d always loved irritating him, and exchanged another look that Akaashi couldn’t decipher. It occurred to him that he was probably a topic of conversation between them, and that bothered him.

Finally, Suga said, “So. Have you spoke to him?”

Akaashi swallowed hard, not just sushi, but a sudden bile that arose with the question. “No.”

Suga pouted. “Oh, come on, Keiji, you can’t still be mad.”

Akaashi wasn’t still mad, but he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a petulant child. So he poked at his food with his chopsticks, glaring down at it.

Oikawa reached over, touching his arm. They knew him too well, they could see his thoughts written all over his face, but they were both decent enough to not point it out, even though everyone knew how stubborn Akaashi was being, just because he was embarrassed. “You should call him.”

Akaashi frowned at him. “There’s nothing to say…”

“Look,” Suga said. “You don’t know how upset he was when I left. You didn’t see how… I don’t know, empty he looked at the thought that you _hated_ him. He thinks you despise him. You should at least tell him you’re okay.”

“Do I _look_ okay, Sugawara?” Akaashi snapped.

“Yes,” Suga snapped right back. “You’re a big boy, you’ll be back to the studio in no time. You’ve had injuries worse than this and you know it.”

Akaashi flushed with the truth of it and couldn’t meet Suga’s eye. They sat in silence a moment while Suga waited for Akaashi to speak and Akaashi refused on point of stubborn pride. Finally, Suga reached over where Akaashi had dropped his phone on the couch beside him and plucked it up. “You still have his number?”

“Hey!” Akaashi yelped, reaching for his phone, but Suga skipped away, grinning since Akaashi couldn’t jump up and follow him. Oikawa made it worse by snatching up his crutches and moving them out of reach. It wasn’t that Akaashi _couldn’t_ just hop around, but he didn’t want to risk falling. His hands had only just finished healing the scabs from his fall and he didn’t want any more open wounds on his palms.

So he sat glaring at Suga as he attempted to unlock his phone. “What’s your password, Keiji?” He smirked, giddy with his prize. Akaashi didn’t answer him, only sulked deeper into the couch. “Hm… is it your birthday?” He typed, then laughed. “No.” He sunk to the floor gracefully, contemplating, then looked up at Akaashi with a smile. “Remind me — when was your first date with him?”

Akaashi blushed so high in his face he felt it in his ears. Suga’s smile widened and he took out his own phone, scrolling through their texts until he found the right day and entered the numerical equivalent in the passcode lock.

“Ha!” he cheered, turning it around with a gleeful laugh. “Let’s see, oh…” He must have seen the texts Bokuto had sent, for his face fell. He glanced up at Akaashi and said gently, “You… didn’t answer any of them.”

Akaashi glowered at him. “Koushi, please.”

“You’re miserable,” Oikawa said. “Why haven’t you tried to rectify your situation?”

“Like how? Tell him that it’s all alright that he just threw me on the ground?”

Suga huffed. “That’s not what happened and you know it!” He snorted, annoyed. “I’ll just tell him to come over.”

“What!?” Akaashi shrieked, panic rising, screaming high and hot in his stomach. “No, don’t!”

“Too late.” Suga dictated as he typed, “ _What are you doing? Are you busy?_ And sent.”

Akaashi had struggled, reaching for the phone, Oikawa gripping his sleeve to keep him from falling into the floor. “What the hell!?”

Suga leaned back on his hand, raising his eyebrows. “Silence doesn’t solve any problems.” Akaashi’s phone buzzed and Suga looked at it, smiling. “He says he’s not busy.”

Akaashi’s heart leapt into his throat. “Please don’t…”

But Suga was typing again. “ _Can we talk?”_ He sent it, then gasped and typed quickly, “ _In person.”_

Akaashi felt sick, the sushi not sitting well in his stomach. He leaned back and threw himself into the couch, all his energy ebbing away.

Oikawa hummed as he cleaned up the plates, his own composition Akaashi thought, while Suga and Akaashi argued silently with glares and pointed, barbed looks.

Suga looked at Akaashi’s phone, nodding when he read the message. “He’s on his way.”

Akaashi moaned, sinking into the couch and glaring at the ceiling. “Ah, fuck me.”

Suga laughed, standing and flipping his phone back to him so it landed on his stomach. “Really? I thought you two were arguing? Is that the type of sex you’re into?” Akaashi snatched a pillow and hurled it at him, Suga laughing as he ducked away.

He waited the half an hour that it took Bokuto to get there with a nervous pitter patter of his heart making him feel like he was going to throw up. Suga and Oikawa stuck around to chat, but with each other and not Akaashi, as he was afraid that if he opened his mouth everything would come spilling out. All the food, emotions, and fear that scrambled around inside him.

When the call button buzzed loud in the apartment Akaashi almost leapt from his skin. He just realized he hadn’t showered or brushed his hair in days. His shirt had a stain and his pants hadn’t been washed since before his accident. He groaned, his face hot, his fingers tingling, his foot aching. He wanted his pain meds so he could just pass out.

Suga stood though, patting his shoulder as he walked around the couch. “We’ll let him in. Text me later, ok?”

Akaashi only mumbled unintelligibly. Oikawa touched his head as he passed, and they buzzed the lobby door open. In the time it took them to put their shoes on, Bokuto was at the door. The quiet knock had every echo of fear and worry that Akaashi felt inside himself. 

_(Song Selection: Welcome Home - Joy Williams)_

Suga opened the door and smiled. “Hey. Thanks for coming.”

“O-oh…” Akaashi heard Bokuto say, “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“We’re just leaving,” Oikawa told him warmly, “You look winded, are you alright?”

Bokuto chuckled, his nerves audible. “Yeah… is Keiji here?”

“Oh, yes,” Suga said, stepping out into the hallway with Oikawa. “Just talk, okay? Make him talk to you.”

Bokuto didn’t answer and Akaashi didn’t need to see him to know that he was worried.

“Alright…”

Suga called into the apartment, “Bye!”

They left and the door closed. Akaashi kept his eyes closed, his heart pounding so hard he thought his ribs might crack. He could feel Bokuto’s presence in the apartment, even though he hovered far away by the door.

They sat in silence, their last moments together too heavy between them.

Finally, Akaashi managed to stand, wobbling on his crutches, and moved towards his bedroom. Really, he was in a lot of pain and he was two hours overdue for his medicine. At the doorway he looked over his shoulder and said, his voice barely a whisper, “Well… come on if you’re coming.”

The floorboards creaked softly as Bokuto moved, cautiously following. Akaashi sank onto his bed, reaching for the large water bottle he kept beside his bed and prying the cap off his medicine. He popped two in his mouth and chugged some water, then scooted back in the middle of the bed, wincing as the cast caught on some blankets and put an uncomfortable pressure on his knee.

He pulled his blankets up around his shoulders and settled down in the bed, but unable still to look at Bokuto. He didn’t want to look up and see a _worse_ face than the one that was seared in his mind. Bokuto shifted from foot to foot in the doorway, fiddling with his fingers and staring at his shoes.

Finally, Bokuto whispered, “‘kaashi…” he stopped, taking a shaky breath, “I… I’m so sorry.”

Akaashi closed his eyes for a moment, pulling the blankets up around his head, picking at a stray piece of yarn that had come undone over the years. “I know,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “It…” he swallowed the words, then remembered that they were true and forced them out, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t asked —”

“Kou,” Akaashi said, stern, forcing himself to believe it because… well, there was nothing else to believe. Not if he ever wanted to be happy again. “It was an accident… and…” He looked up at Bokuto finally, and his heart ached at the expression on Bokuto’s face: a mixture of exhaustion, distress, pain, fear, and a touch of hope. Probably, it matched his own. “I shouldn’t have said … what I said.”

Bokuto looked away, self deprecating pain pressing his eyebrows into an pinched _v_. “But it’s true.”

“No,” Akaashi sighed, “It’s not. You work just as hard as I do… and just because they’re different styles doesn’t make what you do any less important.”

Bokuto sighed, nodding his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Still. I just… wish I knew what went wrong.”

“The only thing we can do is try it again and perfect it. Accidents happen. It’s a part of the job.”

Bokuto smiled, the smallest hook to the corners of his mouth. “You’d want to do it again?” He paused. “With me?”

Akaashi reached a hand out of his cocoon and patted the bed beside him. “You’re the only one I want to dance with, Bokuto.”

Bokuto inhaled sharply. “So… can we just…” His voice was thick, trying to hide his emotions and failing.

“Let’s put it behind us.” Akaashi turned his hand up, imploring. “I’ve missed you.”

Bokuto came immediately to him, but instead of sitting beside him he knelt there, leaning over and pressing his forehead to Akaashi’s thigh. “You forgive me, then?”

Akaashi felt his own sad smile pull at his lips and he reached a hand out, petting him, curling his fingers in the soft, feather-like down of Bokuto’s hair. “Only if you forgive me, too.”

Bokuto sat up, looking him full in the face for the first time. “Anything you could do I’ve already forgiven. You’re — Keiji — “ his voice faltered, stopped as Akaashi reached up and cupped his hand over the side of his jaw, fingers brushing his temple, thumb touching his lips.

“Stay with me?”

Bokuto nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his face into Akaashi’s hand. They stayed that way for a few long moments before Akaashi said, “Come on, I’m cold.” He opened his blanket and Bokuto squeezed in beside him, tucking Akaashi against his side and wrapping his arms around him. Akaashi closed his eyes and leaned against him, the smell of him permeating his nostrils, the warmth of his body searing his skin in a wonderful, soothing way.

He’d been an idiot. Bokuto would never hurt him on purpose. Of course he wouldn’t. His arms were safety, his body the comfort of home. Akaashi shifted even closer, the floating, dizzying feeling of the medication kicking in suddenly making his mouth dry. He wondered if Bokuto would kiss him. He wondered if he would be able to stay awake long enough to ask Bokuto what he’d been doing this past week.

He hummed a bit, then laughed aloud suddenly as a thought hit him.

Bokuto looked down at him, smiling a real smile for the first time that night. “What’s so funny?”

Instead of words, Akaashi began to hum the opening notes to CLUE. Bokuto settled down with Akaashi in his arms and waited for the proper time before saying in a low, soothing voice, “Wadsworth steps out of his car, going to the door of a large mansion. Two giant dogs — leap! At him.” With this he gripped Akaashi’s arms in a firm, playful grip, making them both giggle. “He throws them a giant bone, and goes to the door…” Bokuto touched his nose to Akaashi’s ear, sniffing theatrically, “And smells something _smelly._ ”

Akaashi giggled, high on his drugs and Bokuto’s presence. “Bark, bark!” he growled, pretending to be the two dogs.

Bokuto continued the story, and any time he faltered in it’s telling Akaashi was right there to correct him, woozy and drowsy but not wanting to sleep and waste any more time away from Bokuto. They took turns playing the characters, but Bokuto had Wadsworth’s complicated lines memorized perfectly so he took that over enthusiastically.

Akaashi lost his place before the end of the dinner scene and Bokuto began acting out each character, his voice switching from the high, nasally voice of Mrs. White to the gruff, masculine Colonel Mustard.

Akaashi listened with a smile on his face, until he realized he was dreaming. He was in Hill House, moving through the rooms as Bokuto ran around, changing outfits with a spin and playing every part in the movie. At one point, following the script still, Bokuto leaned his mouth down to press against Akaashi’s ear and whispered, “I’ll catch you. Fall into my arms.”

Akaashi did, but instead of falling to the floor as Mrs. Peacock did in the movie, Bokuto held him close, kissing down his cheek and throat, and as Akaashi fell deeper into sleep, Bokuto cradled him so that all Akaashi knew was warmth, happiness, and love. He’d been a fool to go so long without this, and he vowed to never do it again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7
> 
> There are several songs in this chapter, which start in the second scene. They should all be one after the other, but the last song in the list is the most important to listen to if you're following along with the playlist.

 

In the weeks that followed, Bokuto practically lived with Akaashi. He was there at all hours of the day and night, except when he left for a few hours for his rehearsals and, when he came back, he usually came bearing the gift of food. He helped himself to the house, making himself at home as if he’d always belonged there, even doing laundry and other simple household chores when he realized how it bothered Akaashi that he himself couldn’t do them.

Akaashi was happy while Bokuto was there, able to forget momentarily his frustrations with himself and his current position. But for the few hours every day that Bokuto would leave and he was left alone, the negative emotions would boil over; all his frustrations, his resentment, anger and sadness. He wanted to stand in the shower and cry, but the cast prevented both comfortable standing _and_ showers so he just curled up in bed and tried to make himself some semblance of _fine_ with his life.

Usually, he failed until Bokuto returned — and Bokuto always knew when he was upset, so he would fill him with food and cuddle him until he felt better. Other than Suga’s incessant texts about the unending frustrations of small children in the ballet classes which filled Akaashi with a wicked sense of glee, Bokuto was the only thing that could even make him smile on most days.

Once, when they were cuddled up on Akaashi’s bed watching movies (as they spent many evenings now) Bokuto remembered the adult films he’d brought, and convinced Akaashi to watch one of them. Akaashi spent the first half giggling at the bad acting and over-dramatic lines, then blushing as it got to the _real_ part of the video. He’d only ever seen other people having sex in Hollywood films, and there it was all soft light and romantic talks, all the intimate things hidden from view.

In this video, it was all on display, and though Akaashi was used to sex and fairly intimate with his and Bokuto’s bodies, the full lighting of the videos made him uncomfortable and unsure of himself. Bokuto put a stop to that real fast, though, by dragging Akaashi into his lap and kissing him until he forgot about the video in question, too focused on the tingling feelings Bokuto pulled out of him.

At one point, when Akaashi was breathless and squirming, his foot tense in his cast (slightly painful but he didn’t have enough brainpower to care) Bokuto stopped his exploration of Akaashi’s throat with his mouth and pointed at the screen. “Don’t do that. That’s not how it’s done. That guy has _destroyed_ his gag reflex.”

Akaashi glanced at the screen and nearly choked, then burst out laughing, leaning back against Bokuto. “H-How?!” he gasped, giggling at the screen and the _impossible_ things going on there.

Bokuto was grinning, slipping one hand over Akaashi’s stomach. “Don’t know,” he said, grinning, dragging his tongue up the back of Akaashi’s earlobe and making him shiver. “Remember when I showed you how to do it?”

Akaashi _did_ remember, the morning after their first time together, Bokuto had woken him up in an unconventional, though appreciated, way. He mumbled his appreciation of that memory as Bokuto slipped his fingers down and into his shorts.

“Want me to show you again?” Bokuto grinned, tugging Akaashi’s ear between his teeth.

Akaashi whimpered out a mumbled, “God, yes.”

The day when this damn cast came off would be a godsend, since it got in the way of _everything_.

 

* * *

 

_(Song Selections: Tchaikovsky: Swan Lake; Esmeralda: Female var.; Adagio for Strings Op.11)_

 

One day, only a day or two after Akaashi got his cast sawed off, Bokuto appropriated Kuroo’s car so that he and Akaashi could drive to the next city over. The car could barely survive along on the high speed roads, and made considerably more unnerving noises on the slower roads when it had to hobble along in first and second gear.

Akaashi sat in the passenger seat, soaking up the sunlight, wondering why he’d allowed himself to hide in his apartment for so long. He missed the heat of the sun bearing down, missed the feel of sweat on his neck and the smell of anything other than the inside of his bedroom. His phone beeped, and an electronic woman said: “ _In five hundred feet turn left onto Eighth Avenue South.”_

“Shit!” Bokuto swore, jerking the steering wheel hard to the left and careening across traffic in order to not miss his turn.

Akaashi clung to the seat (and vaguely realized why the _oh shit_ handle up top had been ripped from the roof) and gasped, “Bo — RED LIGHT!”

Bokuto slammed on the breaks and the car jerked painfully to a halt. He looked over at Akaashi, face plaintive. “I see it.”

Akaashi pressed himself into the seat, hoping it would keep him from flying through the cracked windshield. “Mhm-hmm.” His voice was too high. Bokuto’s driving fucking scared him. It wasn’t that he was a _bad_ driver. It wasn’t that he was a _good_ driver, either.

He was a _lucky_ driver.

With Bokuto the term _lead foot_ was something of an understatement. He didn’t know how to slowly add gas nor apply the brake, so every motion was jerking and Akaashi’s head hit the seat or the side window on more than one occasion. He had no concept of _mirrors_ and was constantly looking over either shoulder, craning his neck dangerously far away from the front in order to not crash into other vehicles. It was a miracle that he hadn’t wrecked into anything yet, and Akaashi sat in the passenger seat praying that he would survive the day’s journey.

At the red light, the car idled loudly, Bokuto feathering the gas (if _feathering_ meant sitting on the brake and growling the engine with his other foot) so the car didn’t die in a loud rumble of death throes. Akaashi had asked more than once why they didn’t just sell this one for parts and pool the house money together and buy a used car.

“We love ole Clarence,” Bokuto had told him emphatically, patting the roof of the rickety red death trap fondly. “Fifteen years old and still kicking.”

Akaashi had mouthed the word _Clarence_ with disbelief.

Now, Clarence had decided that he would live to die another day, and limped along the road with Bokuto punishing him with too many jerks of the wheel and heavy footed stomps to the gas. Akaashi felt _bad_ for Clarence.

But he got them to the theater. Akaashi dumped himself out of the car, gasping with relief, and pulled his crutches from the seat, then patted the car and thanked him for his hard work. His cast had been off for two days now, but his foot still ached, still tingled with muscles unused to movement after six weeks in a cast. He hobbled along beside Bokuto, who helpfully slowed his stride so Akaashi didn’t have to rush to keep up. They went inside the lobby and Akaashi looked around, wondering if he’d find Suga before his audition.

There were so many people here, bags open like surgery patients, clothes hanging off of picture frames and door jambs, the smell of hairspray, deodorant, _Icy-hot,_ and _Tuf-skin_ (the sticky spray that kept leotards in place) hung in the air. Akaashi inhaled slowly, moving around the room with Bokuto right behind him, his chest aching with want. With _need._ His muscles cried out with longing to stretch themselves, his spine aching with how much it _didn’t_ ache.

Bokuto touched his back, and Akaashi realized he’d stopped, staring at a guy stretching his foot up the wall in a wonderful side split, holding onto a chair for balance. Akaashi could do that. He loved doing that.

“You good?”

Akaashi nodded, unsure if he was lying to himself or not. “Sure.”

“Let’s go, I see people going into the theater,” Bokuto said, tugging on his shirt gently.

Akaashi tore his eyes away from the man stretching and they made their way into the auditorium, where he hobbled down the aisle and inched sideways into a row of seats in the front corner of the room. In the middle, a comfortable distance from the stage, a table had been set up over the seats and a panel of seven people sat with papers in front of them, scribbling and chatting amongst themselves. The dancers left them a wide bubble — out of respect or fear — and huddled in groups at the back and left hand sides, peered over the balcony rails, and sat stretching in the aisles.

“So you used to do a lot of these?” Bokuto asked, taking his crutches and laying them aside, out of the way.

Akaashi nodded, searching still, for Suga. He didn’t see him in the theater, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. There were hundreds of dancers here, plus their support group, if they brought any, so it wasn’t wrong to think that even if Suga was waving at him he could easily miss it. “Yes,” he said. “Many many many.”

Bokuto leaned back in his seat, and Akaashi shot him a look as he attempted to put his feet up on the seat in front of him. “So what happens?” He shifted uncomfortably, now unsure what to do with his feet, and settled for simply sitting like a normal human being.

Akaashi laughed, leaning forward and crossing his arms over the seat in front of him. Arms were different than feet. “Well, it’s pretty simple. The dancers are called up in groups — usually ten or fifteen — and each of them has about a minute to do their routine. Then, unless the scouts have something amazing or awful to say, usually they just go off and the next person goes.”

Bokuto frowned, thinking about this. “Seems awfully impersonal.”

“It’s supposed to be. They’re only taking six people. Three girls, three boys.” His voice was hard and quiet, knowing the disappointment of many a failed audition. Or, worse, an amazing audition that got no call-back.

Bokuto stared around the room, eyes wide, his lips moving as if trying to count aloud the number of people. “No shit.”

“Mhm-hmm.” Akaashi nodded, and was going to say more but one of the women at the center table stood, picking up a microphone and the momentary squealing feedback loop had every head in the place turning towards her.

“Attention dancers,” she said in a professional, barely warm tone. “Group one come to the stage, please. For the audience we would like to remind you to keep any and all applause to a minimum between dancers. We have a lot of dancers to go through today and we would like to see them all. Please be professional and courteous.” With that, she sat down, adjusting her glasses and picking up her pen, making a note in a small notebook.

The room fell uneasily quiet, as if someone had taken a blanket and thrown it over the room. People stilled in their nervous tittering, several actually sat in their chairs and closed their eyes, or pressed their palms together in prayer. Akaashi’s own heart beat a shivering, nervous rhythm in his chest, preparing his body for adrenaline he wouldn’t get to use. It was a habit, he supposed, borne of repetition — as was nearly every part of dance.

A man from the table called, “Dancer number one.”

It took a moment, but a girl stepped on stage, long tulle skirt billowing around her like butterfly wings. She stopped in the center, taking a fifth position _,_ her chest rising and falling rapidly. Akaashi felt cold. He had an awful feeling in his chest. He could see from here how nervous she was. She was young, too, this might have been her first audition.

“Cue music,” one of the table said, and a moment later a lilting soft flute began to play and the girl gracefully arched both arms, then stepped into her piece. It wasn’t but a moment before she messed up. Akaashi wasn’t sure if her pointe shoe went up at a bad angle, or if her nerves were getting to her, but her very _élevé attitude_ botched, and she plopped directly onto her bottom.

There was a soft sound not unlike a groan that came from the audience, but it was more the _suggestion_ of a groan than anything else. Akaashi dropped his forehead to his arms, shaking his head, the warmth and frustration of second hand embarrassment flooding his face. “Oh, no,” he whispered. Beside him he felt Bokuto shift in his seat. When he raised his head, the girl had moved on, into a bouncing _entrechat_ and _petit allegro_ variation, _attitude,_ and _pirouette_ combination.

The piece she chose was famous, a _Pas de Trois_ variation from _Swan Lake,_ and other than her one hiccup at the beginning, she did perfectly well… except for the tears that fell steadily down her cheeks. Her smile never faltered, though, and when her time was up and the music ended, she bowed gracefully and left the stage.

It was a testament of this cutthroat world that not a soul came forward to comfort her, and the silence that followed her piece was only broken by a woman, presumably her mother, trotting down the aisle on tall heels and gathering her daughter in her arms, cooing softly to her and taking her away tucked under her arm like a mother hen. At the top of the theater, just before the door closed, the girls sob broke through, the sound of shattered dreams.

The scouts were jotting things down. Akaashi eyed them a moment, then turned to Bokuto and said, “She won’t get in.”

“Yeah…” Bokuto mumbled. He was frowning, concerned, looking like he’d just seen a lion take down a baby gazelle. “Geez, I thought it would be funny to see someone bust their butt….” His face twisted into a painful grimace. “But that wasn’t funny.”

“It really isn’t,” Akaashi whispered as the next person was called on stage.

They settled down to watch the others, Akaashi whispering to Bokuto what piece was being performed if he recognized it — which he usually did, since scouts liked seeing recognizable variations done _well_ — and would point out if he thought the person performing had a good chance of getting in or not. There were a lot of dancers who were good enough, technique unmatched, stage presence perfect. They would be considered, it was obvious.

Sometimes, it was also obvious who wouldn’t be called back. Dancers whose turn out wasn’t good enough, who had bad feet, had horrid stage presence, or simply failed with underdeveloped technique.

“How the fuck can you see their turn out from here?” Bokuto asked, squinting at the stage where a danseur was performing a variation from _Don Quixote._ He was leaning on the seat back beside Akaashi, both his arms dangling over the seat.

“You can see it in the turn of his attitude. It’s tilted, see?”

Bokuto frowned, making a show of narrowing his eyes, widening them, and squinting again. “Uh. Sure.”

Akaashi chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s fine, it’s not a sure thing — but most of the companies here don’t want to take the time to teach technique to new dancers. They want them to come fully pliable, only needing the smallest tweaks to make them perfect for their purposes.”

Bokuto huffed, louder than he should have because a woman four rows in front of them turned to glare sharply at them. “That sucks. That’s why I don’t like ballet,” Bokuto was saying, oblivious to the woman’s glare. “It’s all gotta look the same. There’s no soul, no spirit. No improvisation.”

As the danseur finished, there was a light applause as he bowed and took his leave. He wouldn’t make it, but it was still a good showing. If he could get his turnout about ten degrees further… but at his age, turnout was especially hard to train, so it was possible he would never get it to where it needed to be.

“That’s not necessarily true…” Akaashi said, watching as a girl came on stage in a bright red Spanish tutu. _La Esmeralda_. “You have to have passion for what you do.” He paused, for some thought poked at the back of his brain. Some knowledge that he was touching on, but couldn’t quite grasp. His mind reached, searching, fingers splayed, but ultimately failed and he grasped at the threads of it as the thought floated away. He managed to say, “It shows when you do.”

Bokuto shrugged. “You must see something in it I don’t, then.”

Akaashi looked at him, then turned his attention back to the stage. This girl was good, very good. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She floated through her routine, her toes looking like she didn’t even touch the floor, her _pirouettes_ elegant and beautiful, her _grande jetés_ so high off the ground she looked like she was flying.

“She’s pretty,” Bokuto said. Akaashi threw a sharp look at Bokuto, who grinned wickedly. “Oof, that’s a _face._ You jealous?”

Akaashi turned away with a sniff. He wasn’t jealous… He laid his chin on his arms again, pouting, watching the girl until her piece was over. She gave an elegant bow, and a few people in the back clapped for her. Even one of the scouts had a smile on her face. She would get in. Akaashi was almost certain of it.

Everyone else was, too. The next girl that stepped on stage looked put out and nervous, scowling the red dressed girl as she left the stage. There was a silent hum through the audience, of appreciation for the girl before, and apprehension for the girl on stage now.

As the day went on, Akaashi became more and more distressed — where was Suga? He checked his phone, but Suga hadn’t answered any of his text messages. The dancers came and went, and the theater emptied as several groups dissolved in happiness or tears. There was a twenty minute break after the fifth in which Akaashi and Bokuto took a lap of the auditorium and lobby. He saw a few faces he recognized from other dance classes, or performances he’d seen or worked in, but he didn’t stop to chat. They were busy, and he was pathetic with his half healed foot and crutches, plus people were giving Bokuto odd looks in his sneakers and letter jacket, with his crazy hair and the way he whistled every time someone did a split in his general vicinity.

By the time they made it back to their seats, Akaashi was _tired._ He hadn’t moved this much since he’d hurt his foot and he was ashamed of how weak he’d gotten. Bokuto didn’t say anything about it, though, and they waited for the next group to begin.

“You look worried,” Bokuto pointed out.

Akaashi sighed, leaning back in his seat and craning his neck around, so far he almost felt it pop as he looked up towards the balcony. “I couldn’t find Suga.”

Bokuto looked around too, sitting up and peering about. “Maybe he didn’t come?”

“Why wouldn’t he come?” But Akaashi’s heart sank into his stomach. He had never managed (gotten up the energy, really) to go to the studio to watch Suga’s piece, no matter how many times Suga asked him to. Surely, that wouldn’t stop Suga from auditioning. He felt like a shitty friend, guilt and frustration sitting beside his heart — especially after Suga and Oikawa had been _so good_ to him in his hour of need, even though at the time he hadn’t wanted them butting in.

“Dancer number seventy-two.”

And out stepped Oikawa, Suga prancing along behind him. Oikawa looked dapper in his suit jacket and clean blue jeans. Suga had chosen skintight leggings and a bare chest — it made him look wild and sensual next to Oikawa. Their contrast must have been chosen specifically, and it worked well. Akaashi leaned forward, his breath caught in his throat, heart leaping up beside it, nervous and excited for his friend. He glanced back at the scouts, and saw several of them leaning forward also — good sign. Suga’s nakedness or Oikawa’s presence had intrigued them, it seemed.

Oikawa placed his violin under his chin, touched the bow to the strings, and Suga moved beside him, raising his foot to rest on Oikawa’s shoulder, his hands a round, lovely arch above him. Oikawa moved the bow, enticing from the instrument a slow, feathery note.

Akaashi gasped softly, all his fear and love and nervousness escaping in a moment, and he reached over to grasp Bokuto’s wrist — needing something to hold onto, his heart hammering so hard in his ears he almost couldn’t hear Oikawa’s next note. Bokuto reached over with his other hand, laying a warm palm over Akaashi’s hand and squeezing gently.

Suga bent his standing leg in a _demi plié,_ raising the leg on Oikawa’s shoulder up and off, and up, up, up, holding high. He straightened his standing leg, leaning sideways so he was in a full side split, movement in stillness, grace and beauty embodied as he turned on the spot so that, instead of a side split, he was in an amazingly high _arabesque penchée._

With the next note, he dropped his head, falling forward and _rolling_ out of his _arabesque_ (absolutely unheard of! Several people gasped) and into a z-split, arms delicate and graceful as he rounded them. He rose like a marionette doll, skipping across the stage with a series of _petit_ jumps and steps, and a turning _attitude_ at the end. When he kicked his leg high, it looked like it would never stop. He twirled back towards Oikawa, brushing his fingers over his cheek, as his feet did combinations, and even in the middle of the audition they shared a look of such love and longing that Akaashi felt it from here.

Bokuto squeezed his hand again, and Akaashi realized that he didn’t _long_ to share a look like that anymore. He _did_ have that. He had Bokuto. He glanced over for a moment, to see Bokuto smiling at _him_. He blushed, biting his lip and looking away, to see Suga showing off now — throwing himself across the stage with powerful _cabriole_ leaps and barrel jumps, quadruple _pirouettes_ and _fouettes._ Oikawa rocked with his playing, the sound rich and lovely in the old theater, melting into the walls and reminding everyone that _this_ was what the theater was meant for, not electronically recorded orchestras.

The dance ended the way it began, Suga doing several simple, clean _pirouettes_ beside Oikawa, then bowing with a _demi plié_ , pushing his foot through _tendu_ and into an _arabesque_ that left his foot resting on Oikawa’s shoulder. The song melted away, and as the echoes of it hung in the air. Oikawa lowered the instrument, twitching his bow over to touch Suga’s cheek with it, caressing as Suga’s fingers had caressed him earlier.

There was silence a moment, then everyone cheered — even the scouts applauded politely. Akaashi pushed himself to his feet, leaning hard on the seat in front of him, his foot positively _screaming_ with pain, and threw his arms in the air in triumph.

Suga dropped his foot and took a small bow, then saw Akaashi and smiled, waving back. As they left the stage, vanishing into the wings, Oikawa played a cheerful tune and several people laughed with delight. Suga and Oikawa’s performance seemed to have breathed life back into the place, a new elation filling the dancers as they waited for their turn.

Akaashi stood, clinging to the seat, grabbing for his crutches. “Come on, come on,” he said quickly. Bokuto handed them to him and stood too, following him out the theater and into the lobby. Akaashi stood beside the front door, leaning on his crutches because his foot was aching, craning his neck from the hallway that led to the backstage area to the street outside incase they had left through the back door.

Bokuto smiled at him, inching towards the door to glance down the street. “They were good.”

“Mhm-hmm,” Akaashi agreed. “I was surprised to see Oikawa, but I think it was best.”

“Not many dancers have their own violinist, I guess?”

Akaashi chuckled. “Not many. Oh!” He gasped as Suga came out of the hallway, having changed into jeans and a black and orange tank top. Suga saw him immediately and shouted with glee, rushing over and hugging Akaashi hard, standing on his toes to avoid the crutches.

“You came!”

Akaashi had dropped one of the crutches to wrap one arm around Suga’s shoulders. In a burst of affection, he kissed his cheek, unheard of for himself, but it felt right considering Suga had just _killed_ his audition. “Of course! Amazing, magnificent. You were beautiful!” He looked up at Oikawa, having to peek over Suga’s head since Suga hadn’t let him go yet. “You too, that was so lovely. I’m so impressed!”

Oikawa smiled back, knocking his violin case against his leg. “Thanks, Koushi worked hard.”

“It’s —” Akaashi laughed again, giddy with happiness. “It’s nothing like what I saw last.” He playfully punched Suga’s arm. “How dare you make something so beautiful without telling me!”

Suga blushed, grinning, stepping away finally and leaning against Oikawa’s side. “I _did_ ask you to come watch.” His smile was polite, a bit disappointed, but he didn’t say it to guilt Akaashi into feeling bad. “Sorry I didn’t answer you earlier…”

Oikawa remarked, “He was practically throwing up he was so nervous.”

Suga elbowed him with a squawk of annoyance. “What the hell, don’t tell him that.”

Everyone laughed and Akaashi said, “It’s okay, I understand. I hate the morning before an audition too.”

“Ugh, more like _night_ before.”

Oikawa put his arm around Suga’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. Then he laid his head on Suga’s and looked between Bokuto and Akaashi. “We’re going to go out to eat, want to come?”

Suga moaned with hunger. “Oh, please, I’m fucking _starving_.”

“Couldn’t eat this morning?” Akaashi asked, fully emphatic. He’d been too nervous to eat before auditions, too. Suga nodded, and Akaashi glanced at Bokuto. “Want to go eat with them?”

Bokuto beamed, jubilant. “Do you ever have to ask me if I want to eat?”

Oikawa laughed once, a high, round laugh. “Wonderful! We’re going to a hot pot place a few blocks over.”

Bokuto let out a approving noise, pulling his keys from his pocket.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and Akaashi turned to his friends, whispering dramatically, “Can I ride with you?”

Bokuto huffed out a snort of laughter. “Oh, Clarence isn’t that bad!”

Oikawa and Suga looked between them, eyebrows raised, but before they could save him Bokuto practically hefted Akaashi in his arms and carried him out, saying over his shoulder, “See you there!”

Akaashi heard Suga say, “What the hell is a Clarence?” before they were out of earshot and Bokuto was helping him back to the parking lot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one can ever convince me that Bokuto is not exactly that type of driver. All Hail Clarence.   
> Also, I know real life auditions do not work like this. TV show auditions work like this because they're _dramatic_ and hence why I chose to do it this way too. 
> 
> Glossary of Terms: (been a while, eh? i'll reiterate a few terms that I've already done, just to refresh memories of anyone not familiar with them at all and who may have forgotten)  
> �élevé - rising straight up onto the balls of the feet or pointe. Similar to relevé, but without a plié first  
> attitude - a position on one leg with the other lifted in back, the knee bent at an angle of 90 degrees and well turned out so that the knee is higher than the foot  
> entrechat- a jump of beating in which the dancer jumps into the air and rapidly crosses the feet in front and behind; (six) - three changes of the feet are made in the air, ultimately changing which foot is in front  
> grand jeté - means "big throw" ; a big jump where the dancer throws one leg into the air, pushes off the floor with the other, jumping into the air and landing again on the first leg; basically, the classical leap that usually comes to mind when people thing of jumping ballerinas.  
> demi plié - a half bend  
> arabesque - a body position in which a dancer stands on one leg (the supporting leg) with the other leg (the working leg) extended, straight, behind the body  
> penchée - means 'leaning.' means the dancer is bent forward over the standing leg with the other in arabesque well above 90 degrees, the chest lowering   
> fouettes - means "whipped turns" - when a dancer does a full turn pirouette, followed by a plié on the standing leg while the working leg extends to croisé front and rond de jambes to the side (a la seconde). As the leg hits the a la second and still in plie, the dancer releves and brings the leg into retiré and begins a turn again. Odile from Swan Lake Act III does the famous 32 fouetté terms  
> cabriole - means “caper.” In a cabriole, a dancer jumps in the air off one leg as the other is thrown upwards, as the bottom leg raises to meet and beat with the top leg, the top leg continues to go higher as the bottom leg returns to the floor.  
> tendu - gradually extending the foot to the front, side, or back, pressing from flat foot, through the ball of the foot (demi-pointe) and to where only the toes touch the floor


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

Akaashi stood in Bokuto’s kitchen, stretching his foot, pressing his toes against the floor to test their strength. He couldn’t dance just yet, but he had a doctor’s appointment next week to get more x-rays done that would tell him if he was fully healed. Next week, then. Next week he could dance.

But still… he was only a teacher. He’d missed the audition. A whole year, at least. He’d have to wait a whole year to try again.

“How’s it?”

Akaashi looked up from stretching his toes. “Hm? Oh,” he sighed, still frustrated that his injury had to be inquired about at all. “It’s fine.”

Kenma raised his eyebrows, disbelieving. “It doesn’t hurt at all?”

“… A little bit.”

Kenma nodded. “It’ll be better soon though?” He sipped his tea, watching Akaashi with his wide, cat-like eyes.

Akaashi glanced down, rolling and stretching his ankle. It ached — and not in a good, _muscles sore from use_ ache. But the ache of disuse. “A few more weeks, I think.”

Kenma nodded. “And what —”

He was cut off as the front door banged open and a stampede burst over the threshold. Nishinoya yelled incoherently as he leapt in the house, bouncing a bit before bobbing into a fast paced, hopping running man. He was breathless as he shouted, “Yo! Kids! Ya ready!? You here for this? Let’s go — let’s do this thing!”

Coming in behind him, Yaku jabbed him in the back with his elbow. “Calm down.”

Noya stopped running in place, opting instead to rock up and down erratically on his toes. Akaashi was jealous of the action. “Where’s Bokuto?” he asked, already moving towards the back hall. “Kuroo!” He and Terushima vanished down the hall, presumably to bring their fearless leaders from the depths of the house.

Saeko and Yukie perched at the bar beside Kenma, Saeko grinning at Akaashi. “Good to see you out and about.”

Akaashi felt a bit bad — he’d not been back to the house when all the crew was there since he’d been injured. He’d only come a few times, always late, and usually he and Bokuto would spend all their time in his bedroom tucked away while Bokuto did his laundry, repacked his bag, and let Akaashi go through his DVD collection to find what they’d watch that week. “How are you?” he asked. “Excited for tonight?”

“Oh, absolutely! It’s always fun to do these,” she said.

“You’re not nervous?”

She laughed. “God, no. Why would I be? I know we’re one of the best.”

He couldn’t argue with her, not only because he didn’t know who they were up against but also because he thought they were pretty good, too. The first round of the street competition was tonight, several groups of dancers would gather at a local nightclub and perform their routines to a close-pressed screaming crowd. Akaashi couldn’t imagine dancing like that, where the crowd could move close and suffocate a dancer. He’d hate that.

He said as much, that it seemed frightening to him and Yukie leaned forward as she dabbed powder on her face. “Really? It’s great. You really get to feel the energy of the people. It’s like a mosh pit! Everyone is together and feeding off of each other.”

Kenma muttered, “Don’t worry, I hate it too.”

Saeko giggled, putting an arm around him and hugging him. “You aren’t even in the crowd —”

“Thank God.”

“You spend all your time in the sound booth with your friend.”

Kenma’s face became even more twisted in annoyance. “He’s not my friend. I don’t think he even likes me.”

Daichi said, “I’m not sure he likes anyone. Kyoutani’s his name, isn’t it?”

Kenma nodded. “Something like that.”

Noya and Terushima came back then, pushing Kuroo before them and Bokuto trailing behind. “Ready?” Bokuto asked, smiling.

“We were waiting on you,” Akaashi pointed out.

“Well — Kuroo was a bathroom hog!” Bokuto said, reaching over and ruffling the tall man’s black hair. Kuroo shouted in aggravation and shoved Bokuto away, attempting to fix his hair.

“Not my fault you spent _half the day_ in the shower,” Kuroo grumbled, glancing at Akaashi, who’s hair was still slightly damp.

Bokuto waved an arm wildly. “It was necessary.” He was at the door, pushing people out. “C’mon, children, let’s go! Can’t be late.”

There was eleven of them, but instead of doing the logical thing and taking a safe amount of cars, they all piled into two. Kuroo drove Clarence with Bokuto beside him and Akaashi in his lap. Stuffed like sardines into the backseat was Kenma with his feet up on the middle console; Saeko, sitting in Terushima’s lap, and Tanaka on Kenma’s other side. Akaashi assumed the others had piled similarly into Daichi’s little compact car — and off they went.

Akaashi kept muttering, “We’re going to get pulled over,” every time they turned onto a new street.

Bokuto hugged his arms around Akaashi’s waist, holding him tight, presumably with the thought that he was going to be his seatbelt in the case of emergency. “It’s _fine._ Kuroo and I know a lot of the cops around here.”

“Yeah, cause you’ve been reported as thieves at the park.”

Bokuto grinned, chin on Akaashi’s shoulder. “Yeah! How’d you know?”

“Oh my God.”

Bokuto laughed, and licked the back of Akaashi’s ear, making him yelp and jump — smacking his head into the ceiling.

“Ouch!”

“Oh shit!” Bokuto was laughing. “I’m sorry!”

From the backseat came a chorus of giggles as Akaashi rubbed his head and scowled back at Bokuto. “I’m riding back with Daichi.”

Bokuto snickered. “What? You’re going to ride in Noya’s lap?”

“No,” Akaashi huffed. “I’ll send him up here and you can lick _him._ ”

“Gross.” Tanaka laughed from the back.

Bokuto pressed a kiss to Akaashi’s neck. “You like it.” Then everyone let out a shout as Kuroo took a turn too quickly, sending them careening sideways. Bokuto knocked his head against the window and he glowered at Kuroo. “What the fuck?”

Kuroo snickered. “Just trying to catch the light.”

 

* * *

 

_(Song Selection: We Rouse - Mr. Party….Remix)_

 

The club itself was overly crowded, dark, and loud. Akaashi thought he knew loud music, but the giant speakers placed around the room made the very air vibrate. Bokuto stood in the center of the crowd, gazing around with a smile at the club: the people, the sounds, the lights. Akaashi touched his chest. “You look like you belong here.”

Bokuto smiled down at him, tucking an arm over his neck and hugging him close. “I like being here. It really makes your heart beat.”

Akaashi could feel Bokuto’s heart beating hard and fast in his chest. “That it does,” he said.

Kuroo sidled up beside them. “Our name is in. It’s not too long until it starts. Maybe an hour.”

Bokuto beamed. “Time to warm up!” And he pulled Akaashi towards the large, pulsating dance floor.

Or he would have, had Akaashi not leaned hard away, saying loudly, “No, no, no.”

Bokuto pouted. “Come on… I love dancing with you!”

“Forgetting the point that I can’t do this —”

“But you can!” Bokuto said, tugging him again.

“I _can’t,_ ” Akaashi said adamantly, pointing to his foot.

Bokuto’s face suddenly fell. “Oh no! Are you hurting?” He looked stricken, distraught at the thought that he’d neglected Akaashi’s pain.

“No,” Akaashi assured him, only a little white lie, “but I can’t dance yet. I can barely walk.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” Akaashi said, smiling to reassure him. “I’ll just go sit at the bar —” He stepped back, stumbling a bit in the crowd, and Kuroo reached out automatically to catch him, both hands on his shoulders.

“Careful,” Kuroo said, close to his ear, “don’t hurt yourself.”

Akaashi blushed, looking over his shoulder at the taller man. He and Kuroo had come to a half-hearted peace, not seeming to despise each other anymore — they spoke in increments and formalities only, but Akaashi didn’t think they would consider each other _friends_ just yet.

“Well, well,” a voice said beside them, “can’t get anyone to dance with you. You’ve gotten that bad?”

Bokuto turned to stare at the newcomer; Kuroo snarled at him. He was a slender, smirking man with narrowed, amused emerald eyes in a leather jacket and tight black jeans. His sneer was as slick and snobbish as his clothes.

Kuroo stepped forward, saying in a low voice, “What are you doing here, Daishou?”

Daishou’s smile widened. “Just wanted to see if you’re any better than you were last year — when you lost.”

Bokuto’s chest puffed up in anger and he moved closer. “Fuck off, dude. You’re just here ‘cause you’re worried.”

“Worried?” Daishou laughed, spreading his hands. “About a bunch of hick —”

Kuroo burst forward, standing toe to toe with him, glaring down at him. “Go home,” he said in a low, threatening voice, barely heard over the music.

Daishou smirked at him, not moving back, not looking intimidated. “What — you don’t like better dancers on your turf?”

Suddenly, from behind them someone shouted and Noya raced forward, vaulting off of Bokuto’s shoulders and thrust himself into Daishou’s personal space right next to Kuroo. “Hey! What’re you doin’ here?! Get out! You wanna _fight?!_ ”

Daishou frowned at him, clearly thinking him more annoying than intimidating (though Akaashi knew that assessment was incorrect). He leaned down close to his face. “No. I’m not going to _fight_ you, you twit.”

Bokuto reached forward and laid a heavy hand on Noya’s shoulder to pull him back even as Noya threw his arms in the air in challenge. “Calm down,” Bokuto told him firmly.

“Yeah,” Kuroo echoed, moving his body in front of the group between them and Daishou, herding them backwards. “He’s not worth our time.” He said it with an animosity that surprised Akaashi.

Noya and Tanaka threw various dirty looks over their shoulders as Bokuto and Kuroo dragged them away, but by the time they'd left the dance floor and entered the bar area tucked under the balcony and Akaashi looked back, Daishou was gone.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“A snake,” Kuroo spat, pulling Kenma by the hood of his coat to the table they’d procured.

Akaashi raised his eyebrows and Bokuto explained, “Daishou — he’s one of the other dancers we compete against. He and his crew are from a different region, though, so we usually only see them at the finals. They’re the ones that beat us these last three years.”

“So… he only came here to —”

Noya shouted, “He came here to spy on us!”

Kenma sipped his drink through a tiny mixing straw. “He came to annoy Kuroo.”

“And everyone else, apparently,” Akaashi said.

Bokuto was still puffed up, looking like his feathers had been thoroughly rumpled. He put his arm around Akaashi’s shoulder and pulled him against his side for comfort, one hand spreading onto Akaashi’s chest over his heart. “It doesn’t matter,” he said though, making a fist in the air with his other hand. “We’re here to do _one_ thing — no matter who is here. And when we see him at the finals, we’ll kick his ass!”

A cheer went up from the group, who had all gathered around to support their leaders. Akaashi reached up to pull Bokuto’s hand from his chest and pressed a kiss to the owl-in-flight tattoo on the back of his hand. “I’m not worried,” he told Bokuto. “Owls _eat_ snakes.”

Bokuto’s face broke into a wide, vicious grin. “I don’t know — but yes!”

Akaashi snickered. “I’m telling you they do.”

“Oh!” Bokuto hugged him close. “Then perfect.” He turned to the table at large and kicked the chair Terushima was lounging in. “Get up!”

Terushima huffed. “The fuck? Why?”

“We gotta go,” Bokuto said, and when Terushima did stand Bokuto parked Akaashi in the vacated seat. “You rest.”

Akaashi laughed. “Sure. But I’ll go up top when you start so I can see you.”

Bokuto smiled, leaning down to kiss him. “Perfect. Oh, here, take this too. Get whatever you want.” He handed Akaashi a slim plastic credit card.

Akaashi hesitated. “I can buy my own —”

“Use it,” Bokuto told him, not letting Akaashi hand the card back to him as he turned and followed his crew onto the dance floor.

Akaashi frowned at the card, but he had almost no money to his name after hospital bills, food, rent, and no job for the last three months. He didn’t even need a drink but… well, Bokuto had told him it was fine.

And only one.

He’d learned his lesson. So, at the bar, he asked for something that didn’t taste too much like alcohol and mild enough that he could drink several of them and not get piss drunk, since he thought he’d be here for several hours. He ended up with a drink that tasted more like lemonade than liquor and he was okay with that. But people had taken his table and Kenma had vanished, so he climbed the stairs to the second floor which wrapped around the room affording a nice view of the dance floor below. He sipped his drink, finding an empty space at the railing to lean over and watch.

The floor was beginning to clear as a voice announced the competition. He could see several groups milling about, clearly getting ready to perform. Taking out his phone, he flipped to the camera so he’d be ready since he’d told Bokuto he’d film what he could. Bokuto had been pleased, but he’d told Akaashi that it was Kenma who would really appreciate the gesture because, apparently, he kept a digital scrapbook of some sort.

“Keiji?” a girl’s voice said from directly beside him. He turned, and was surprised to see a lovely, bubbly girl from his classes.

“Alisa!” he said, smiling, leaning off the rail to give her a quick hug. “Good to see you.”

Her eyes widened with her broad smile. “I should be saying that!” She pulled away to look him over. “How are you? Suga keeps us up to date, of course, but it’s good to see you out in the world again.”

Akaashi wiggled his foot a little. “I’m fine. Just a bit more healing. Sorry I haven’t been to see you guys.” He’d been back at the studio to do paperwork only, and always during the daytime — leaving well before any of the advanced classes began at night. He’d thought it would be too hard on him to see them, honestly.

She squinted at him, green eyes narrowed with worry. “I know you — don’t you go hurting yourself before you’re well.” She gave him a motherly, narrow eyed look, but in her stiletto heels and slinky red dress it lost a touch of it’s power.

“I won’t,” he promised her, smiling.

“Wait!” she gasped suddenly. “Why are you here? I didn’t think you liked clubs.” She knew this because she and several of the others in the ballet class had tried to ask him to come out with them many a Friday night when they’d first begun taking classes from him two years earlier. He’d repeatedly refused them, telling them of his disdain for clubs and club dancing.

“I don’t,” he assured her, pointing down to the dance floor below. “I’m here with them.”

Alisa looked over the railing. “Oh, the big strong man who’s stealing your affection from us?”

He frowned in confusion. He hadn’t explicitly told anyone in the class that he was dating Bokuto. No one except… “Suga told you,” he grumbled.

“Oh he won’t shut up about him.” She laughed. “Said he’s handsome and strong and you were all aflutter over him.” She leaned on the rail. “Which one is he?”

Akaashi made a face at _aflutter_ but decided to let it go since it wasn’t… not true. He pointed, finding Bokuto easily in the crowd. He and Kuroo were standing close, talking to each other and waving their arms around animatedly at whatever they were saying. “Him. The tall one, on the left.”

Alisa hummed appreciatively. “Ohhh, Suga was right to gush.”

“Oh, God. What’d he say?”

“This and that. His arms — for one. Mhm.”

“Well…” Akaashi chuckled, “he’s not wrong.”

She giggled. “He was not.” She turned when someone called her name. “Oh, I’ve got to be going. My friends and I are going club hopping. I’ll see you in class soon, right?”

Akaashi smiled at her. “Soon,” he promised.

When she was gone, he turned back to the balcony and found that they were starting — the music rose and a group gathered to perform. They were okay — good, not great. A little disjointed, a lot out of rhythm. They were boo’ed off quickly enough by the ravenous crowd. Only five other groups to go by Akaashi’s count. He saw the DJ step aside, move over to a secondary station as Kenma gave him a little bow and took his place.

( _Above & Beyond - Bassnectar; again)_

The song that boomed through the speakers was familiar and foreign. Akaashi had heard it a hundred times but now it was all around him bleeding into the floor and breathing into the air. Bokuto and his crew melted from the crowd, one by one, forming a cohesive organism as the music jumped into the next beat. They were perfectly in sync for a moment, then broke apart into smaller parts — Terushima and Tanaka spinning on their heads, Bokuto and Daichi doing the lifts Akashi had taught them with the girls — each person performing their own mini routine, all different, all the same in their own way.

Akaashi watched, half through his phone and half over the screen. The crowd screamed their pleasure as the dance continued into the meat of the routine — the stunts and the group all moving together so the crowd only cheered louder.

“And just who are you?” someone said from right beside him, startling Akaashi so that he almost dropped his phone onto the head of some unsuspecting person below. Fumbling for it, he turned to glower at Daishou, who had materialized beside him.

“Excuse me?” Akaashi narrowed his eyes.

Daishou smiled, thin and cunning. “I said _who are you_?”

“Why do you care?” Akaashi snapped. He didn’t like how Daishou had spoken to his friends.

Daishou laughed, but the sound was lost as a beat hit high and loud. Akaashi glanced at the dancers, but back to Daishou quickly, feeling uncomfortable with the man standing so close to him. Someone had told him once how snakes always struck when you weren’t paying them any mind.

“If you’re not a part of their crew — who are you? I used to be _friends_ with Kuroo.” His eyes cast up and down Akaashi’s body, lip curling. “I’m curious who he’s bedding these days.”

Akaashi stared at him, taking a moment to read his lips in the loud club, place the words in his mind, and then comprehend them. When he did, he couldn’t help but bark out a surprised laugh and lean on the rail. “Shit — is that it?” He snorted again, shaking his head. “Well, Kuroo likes me only marginally more than he likes you. Clearly that’s not much. Really,” he waved a hand at Daishou, “if you’re still hung up on him, maybe I should try him, hm?” He didn’t know why he said it, he didn’t know their situation, he didn’t particularly like Kuroo, but he did know that Daishou flushed furiously crimson and bristled like a dog that’s been challenged by another alpha male.

“You have no idea who those people are,” Daishou spat. “They’ll fuck you over when you least expect it.”

Akaashi shrugged. “That hasn’t been my experience. Maybe they’ve changed since you’ve known them.”

They both gazed at each other, Daishou with fury, Akaashi halfway bored but more curious and annoyed than anything, until the song ended and a cheer went up for Bokuto and the others. Akaashi said, “I don’t know what happened between you — but they’ve forgotten it. You should too.”

Daishou’s sneered at him. “Tell them I expect to see them at the finals so I can —”

“I’m not a carrier bird,” Akaashi told him. He pointed to the staircase where Bokuto was attempting to climb them amidst high fives from onlookers as the next group gathered below. “Tell them yourself. That’s the one I’m _bedding_ ,” he mocked Daishou’s word, “and I don’t think he’d like to see you bothering me.”

Daishou’s eyes flicked towards Bokuto and back. He shifted nervously, but sniffed, trying to act rather above it all, then slipped away into the crowd with a roll of his eyes.

When Akaashi looked back at Bokuto, he was grinning at him — hair messy, eyes wild, arms wide — and as he stepped closer Akaashi moved to meet him. Bokuto swept him up in his arms, holding him up high by his thighs so he had to tilt his head back to grin up at him. Akaashi had to lay his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders to steady himself (as if he needed it).

“Did you watch?” Bokuto asked, still breathless from his dance.

Akaashi smiled down at him, touching one hand to his cheek. “Of course I did. You were magnificent.”

Bokuto lowered him enough so that they could kiss. Bokuto, as always, kissed with his whole being — his hands spreading over Akaashi’s ass under the premise of holding him more safely, his mouth opening Akaashi’s and leaning up to him to kiss him until he was breathless and dizzy.

“Stop that,” Kenma said behind them. “We’re in _public._ ” He had climbed the stairs, laptop bag tucked against his side, and moved towards the tables at the other end of the balcony.

Bokuto beamed and held Akaashi close, not putting him down, only cuddling him close as he followed Kenma. Akaashi wrapped his arms around his neck, legs around his hips, the gazes of the crowd on them. At the table, Bokuto finally let him down and patted his butt fondly before he let Akaashi sit in one of the chairs.

“You’re good with it,” Akaashi told Kenma, motioning to the sound system and surrounding speakers.

Kenma nodded back. “Thank you,” he muttered. “Kyoutani doesn’t really like me being there… but I used to work here and I taught _him_ to use it so he’s really got no choice.”

“Really?” Akaashi asked, curious.

“Yes. Unlike my housemates I can hold a job.”

Bokuto squawked, “Hey! I can hold a job.” He paused, “…if I want to.”

Kenma gave him a leveled, annoyed look for so long that Bokuto shuffled in frustration and finally said to Akaashi, “Give me my card. I’ll go get us drinks.”

Akaashi handed it back to him and watched him vanish, remarkably light on his feet. After he was gone, he turned back to Kenma. “So, you worked here?”

“Mhm-hmm.” Kenma nodded, picking at the flap on his bag. Clearly he didn’t like the club — especially when he wasn’t in the sound booth. “A few years ago.”

Akaashi paused, unsure if he should ask… then pushed on because his curiosity was too strong. “When Daishou had been a part of your crew?”

Kenma’s eyebrows raised as he eyed Akaashi. “Yes. Back then we were all young. Too young to be here, at any rate.” Considering Kenma himself was barely twenty-three, Akaashi wondered how they had all gotten into the club… but decided that more difficult things had been done.

“Can I… ask what happened?”

Kenma’s frown deepened. “Politics, I guess… and love, too.”

Akaashi blinked, saying softly, “He and Kuroo used to date, didn’t they?”

Kenma nodded slowly, not looking at him. “Until Daishou had to move… and Kuroo told him he didn’t want to be a long-distance thing.” He sighed, his fingers clenching hard on his bag. “And he’d… _we_ had been…”

Akaashi saw the deep pink blush on his cheeks, the shame coating his features. He understood, suddenly. They’d been sleeping together. “Oh…”

“They fought all the time,” Kenma said quickly, trying to defend his actions, “Broke up a dozen times. I tried to make sure…” he sighed, frustrated and at a loss. “But I lost track. I still don’t know if … I didn’t want to be _the other man_ if I could help it. Not when they were together...” he trailed off, and didn’t continue.

“Oh…” Akaashi said again, realizing he should let it go and change the subject, but he didn’t know what to change it to. So he was relieved when Kuroo and Daichi appeared, Kuroo moving over to run a hand over Kenma’s back when he saw how upset he looked.

“Can we go?” Kenma asked him as Kuroo sat beside him.

Kuroo propped his feet up on the table — Daichi glowered at him — and he lowered them again before saying, “No, not just yet, sorry.” He reached over and touched Kenma’s hand gently. “We have to wait until the winner is announced. Bokuto and I will have to go back down to be there for it.”

Kenma made a face. “You said you’d take me home when we were done.”

“And I will,” Kuroo promised him. “When we’re done.”

When it was clear Kenma was going to pout and nothing more Akaashi said, “Did you guys see Bokuto down there?”

“He’s buying drinks for everyone.” Daichi said.

Akaashi was appalled. “Everyone?”

“Just us, I mean.”

Kenma asked, “Where are everyone else?”

“Hm…” Daichi looked thoughtful for a moment. “Noya and Tanaka won’t leave the dance floor, harassing the other groups. Yaku is supposed to be watching them but I doubt he’s trying very hard. Yukie convinced some handsome guy to buy her shots. Saeko is flirting shamelessly with some girl while her boyfriend watches and dreams. And I think Terushima is at the bar, too, picking up —”

“Trying to,” Kuroo corrected.

“Trying to pick up pretty girls.”

Kenma groaned, rolling his eyes. “We’ll never leave.”

Bokuto was coming back now, carrying a tray with several large glasses and a huge pitcher of dark, amber beer. “Here we go!” he said as he plunked it all down. He poured out glasses and passed them around — only Kenma and Akaashi unhappily taking theirs. Kenma didn’t even pretend to drink his, but Akaashi did, swallowing a bitter gulp of the liquid for the sake of politeness.

He didn’t like beer, didn’t like how frothy it was or how it rolled in his stomach, warmed by his body. Didn’t like the way it made his head feel the next day after drinking a lot of it, either. He’d learned that lesson at one of the crew’s basement parties, too.

Bokuto dropped beside him, slinging an arm over him and pulling him close. “So, you think we did well?”

Akaashi smiled at him, shaking his head with amusement. “I already told you I did. I filmed a bit of it.”

“Can I see it?” Bokuto asked, leaning close.

“Probably best to wait,” Akaashi told him. “It’s too loud to hear properly.”

Bokuto sighed, sliding down in his seat a bit. “Oh, alright.”

Akaashi laughed at the pout to his lips and leaned to kiss his jaw. “Don’t be that way. When we go home you can watch it all you want.”

Bokuto tilted his head close, saying into his ear, “I’d rather do other things once we get home.” His breath was hot against Akaashi’s cheek, talking a bit louder than he should to be heard over the new beat that rose with the next group that was performing down below.

Akaashi pulled away, grinning and slapping his arm. “You're incorrigible.”

Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows and Akaashi laughed. “We’ll see,” he said.

Kuroo stood just then. “Bo, let’s go. I think this is the last one and we should be down there when they’re done.”

Bokuto leaned his cheek against Akaashi’s head. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” Kuroo laughed. “I didn’t pick the time. You can assault us all with your PDA later.”

“Go,” Akaashi told him, pushing him gently.

Bokuto pouted, but kissed him again before he stood. “Be right back,” he told Akaashi. “I’ll bring you a prize.”

They departed, pushing through the crowd and back down the stairs. Kenma said, “You don’t want that prize.”

“What? Why?” Akaashi laughed, not taking his eyes off Bokuto’s back.

Daichi grinned as he took a long swallow of his drink. “It’s stupid looking. Trust me.”

Akaashi smiled, but figured that if both Daichi and Kenma said something was undesirable, then it probably was. He stood to go to the rail and watch the last group finish their performance. When they were through music continued to play, but not nearly so loud as the dancers music had been — it was only background noise of the man that was speaking.

The MC proclaimed the competition over, calling forth the groups or their representatives. Bokuto and Kuroo stood amongst the crowd, as the MC told them to proclaim their winner. The leaders of each crew cheered for themselves, and a portion of the crowd with them… but then Bokuto picked Kuroo up and hoisted him onto his shoulders, drawing attention to them and reminding the people who they’d _really_ liked best.

The crowd turned, cheered louder when they saw them and remembered. The tumult rose even louder, until the roof shook.

The MC’s laugh echoed out of the speakers. “Y’all’ve made your choice! Now live with it, ya sick bastards!” He screamed a wordless shout into the microphone as he ripped a gold chain from his neck and flung it towards the pair. Kuroo snatched it from the air in triumph as Bokuto tossed him into the air.

Akaashi watched from the rail, a smile spreading on his face. The chain was gaudy. The ceremony was ridiculous. Bokuto and Kuroo were fools — silly fools who partied while the crowd began to sing and dance around them as the losers slunk away in shame. He turned back to Kenma and Daichi with a grin. “Sorry, Kenma — I don’t think we’re leaving any time soon. Kuroo looks pretty damn happy to party for a few more hours.”

Kenma’s face shifted, and he sighed, pulling out his laptop from his bag. He opened it, pulled it close, and tucked the large headphones over his ears in an effort to block out the world around him. Akaashi felt bad for him, wanting to help, but utterly at a loss as to what he could do.

_(Song Selection: Wati by Black - Black M)_

He saw Noya and Tanaka leap onto Bokuto in their glee. He nearly dropped Kuroo to the floor, but managed to at least set him on his feet. Terushima was moving closer, a strange blonde girl on his arm, but before he could get to them Tanaka grabbed Terushima by the arm and shook him in excitement.

Saeko came onto the dance floor, too, pulling with her the girl she’d been presumably flirting with. The music bumped up an octave, pounding out a dancing rhythm — and dance the people did. A girl slipped close to Bokuto, reaching up to touch his face and slide her fingers in his hair.

Green, prickly, ornery, angry jealousy poked its sharp fingers in his belly. It was hot and wet, almost clouding his vision. Bokuto removed her hand from his face, but was smiling at her, and said something to her. But she didn’t move away, and he didn’t push her — he was too nice for that. Akaashi glowered, and on impulse moved from the rail and through the crowd, stepping down the stairs and towards the crowded dance floor.

He paused at the edge, leaning his weight on his good foot, feeling the ache in his other from how long he’d been standing tonight. It hurt, tiny drips of fire pooling along the top of his foot. But he disregarded that, stepping into the crowd, nudging people away as they moved in close with the beat.

He found Bokuto and the girl somewhere deep in the middle of the dance floor, conspicuous because of his stillness beside them. Bokuto saw him first, and smiled wide and happy. Akaashi saw his mouth say something with glee, but the sound was lost amongst the loudness of the music. He turned his head to stare down at the girl, who smiled at him — until he kept staring, and her smile faltered.

She was beautiful. High cheekbones, wide almond eyes with lovely green flecks in them. She showed off her skin with a low cut top and tight pants that left nothing to the imagination. Akaashi stared at her until she stepped back, and Akaashi raised his hand to trace along the path her fingers had touched on Bokuto’s cheek, pushing into his hair — only he gripped a handful of Bokuto’s hair in his fist and pulled him down for a ravenous kiss. Bokuto sighed into his mouth, letting his hands slide over Akaashi’s hips and tug him close against his body.

Akaashi glanced over at the girl, moving his other hand over Bokuto’s chest and up to his throat, where he pressed his blunt nails in hard to prove his point.

The girl slipped away, flushed with embarrassment.

Bokuto pulled back, a smirk like a devil plastered on his face. He dropped his face to say into Akaashi’s ear, “That was rude.” But he didn’t sound like he was chastising Akaashi, he sounded like he was excited by his actions.

Akaashi snapped an annoyed look up at him, clenching the fingers in his hair tighter so that Bokuto moaned a little, tugging their hips together. Akaashi said firmly, “Only me.”

Bokuto’s answering grin was wicked, his eyes roving over Akaashi’s body, hands spreading over to his back and down to his ass. “Only you, my little dancer.”

“You forgot _pretty_.” Akaashi raised his face to kiss him again, his arms coming around to his neck and feeling Bokuto’s hands move his hips to the beat. Less a dance and more like foreplay, but it was more than Akaashi had planned and more than Bokuto had expected and they both enjoyed it just as much as they always had … dancing or no.

By the time Akaashi’s foot was in unbearable pain everyone knew just who Bokuto belonged to, so when he moved away, sweat on his skin, head ringing from the music, heart hammering from the heat of the dance floor, he was sure that Bokuto wouldn’t be dancing _with_ anyone else. When he left, he forced himself to walk with his pride as he laboriously climbed the stairs. It wasn’t until he was halfway across the balcony that he couldn’t help it, his foot hurt so much, he limped the rest of the way and collapsed at the table. Daichi had vanished, but Kenma was still there with his laptop.

He looked up when Akaashi flopped down, watched as Akaashi picked up the lukewarm beer he’d abandoned and drank large, gulping mouthfuls until his throat was wet again.“How was it?” Kenma asked, tugging one side of the headphones off his ear and tucking it behind it.

Akaashi traced the condensation on the glass. “It was loud.” When Kenma laughed he continued, “And sticky. And now I’m in pain.”

“Why’d you go then?”

He tapped his nail on the glass. “To claim my territory.” He laughed. “It was silly, I was just being petty and jealous.”

“Do you regret it?” Kenma asked, one side of his mouth turning up in an amused smile.

“My foot sure as shit does.” Akaashi laughed. It was absolutely throbbing now, the pain racing up his leg and swelling in his shoe. He needed to go home and ice it. All he could do now was put it up on the chair opposite him.

Kenma nodded, sympathetic. “Maybe if we’re both asking, they’ll take us home.” When Akaashi asked about everyone else he said, “Daichi has to work tomorrow so he’s gone already. The others can take cabs home.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Akaashi took another swallow of the beer and even though it tasted horrible, it didn’t taste as bad as the first swallow had so he kept drinking it. Thus the curse of beer.

He’d finished a second glass by the time Bokuto and Kuroo mounted the stairs and joined them at the table. Bokuto leaned down and pressed a kiss to Akaashi’s upturned face. Kuroo sat beside Kenma, grimacing when Kenma shot him a glare.

“You said we’d go,” Kenma said angrily.

Kuroo huffed, leaning back in his chair. “I said—”

“I want to go home _now._ ”

Akaashi looked up at Bokuto, smiling, tilting his head to reveal his throat the way Bokuto liked. “I want to go home, too.”

Bokuto’s eyes glittered with amusement and the thought of going home and continuing what they’d done on the dance floor. “Sure,” he said, looking at Kuroo. “We won, you’ve got the prize that’ll get us into the finals. Let’s go.”

Glancing around, Kuroo saw that he was outnumbered, and sighed, standing. “Fine, fine.”

Kenma packed up his laptop and stood too, pulling his bag over his shoulder. “Good,” he said, walking around the table and stalking off.

Bokuto snickered. “He’s mad.”

Kuroo punched his arm. “Shut up.” He followed Kenma as Bokuto turned to Akaashi.

“Need me to carry you?”

Akaashi said he didn’t need him to, but when he almost fell upon standing Bokuto swept him up in his arms and carried him all the way to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to read gratuitous KyouHaba smut (in four parts) go check out  The Danseur & The DJ  that I just posted. It takes place between this chapter and the next :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter there is a graphic description of violence/character injury, fyi.
> 
> askjdfaskfjas I JUST REALIZED THE SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER WAS WRONG WHEN I FIRST POSTED IT *SOB* I fixed it.... but I feel like for anyone who read it with the wrong song the feel was all wrong.... :(((((

_(Song Selection:_ _I’m Sorry for Today - Ramin Djawadi)_

Bokuto and Kuroo were walking home from the park, Kuroo counting the cash they’d collected from unsuspecting passers-by with quick swipes of his fingers.

“Probably should do that when we get home,” Bokuto said, watching him count bill after bill, the little _swish swish_ of the bills brushing against each other too loud in the quiet street as the sun sank close to the horizon.

Kuroo glanced around, then dropped his eyes back to the money. “There’s no one around.”

Bokuto made a disapproving noise in his throat, but Kuroo was never one to listen to him anyway. His phone buzzed and he looked at the incoming message then told Kuroo, “They’re at the house.” Another message came in and he laughed. “Tanaka’s hungry. Want to stop at that little corner store?”

“Why do you insist on buying those moochers food all the time?”

“Cause I’m usually hungry all the time, too,” Bokuto said, laughing.

Kuroo shook his head with a smile. He peeled off a few bills and handed them over as they rounded the corner. Now Kuroo’s phone rang, a silly little 8-bit song that he’d chosen as Kenma’s ringtone just to annoy him. “Go, get me something good.” Kuroo flapped a hand at Bokuto. “I’ll take this and maybe you’ll be done by the time Kenma’s done telling me whatever silly thing Noya’s done to piss him off this time.” He laughed, pocketing the money and putting the phone to his ear as he turned to pace the parking lot. His voice was warm with fondness when he greeted, “Hey, Koz, what’s happened this time?” It had been a few days since they’d won the competition, and Noya, who would take any win and run with it for at least a century, was still bouncing around like a madman wherever he went, usually breaking something in the process.

Bokuto went inside, perusing the aisles at his leisure, filling his arms with snacks and drinks he knew his friends liked. Suddenly, the cashier girl gave a tiny shout of shock. Bokuto turned to follow her gaze to see two people outside struggling, fighting. He squinted, then gasped when he realized it was Kuroo and some stranger. Something flashed in the red hot light of the setting sun — a knife, pulled from under the stranger’s coat.

Kuroo wasn’t one for violence, but he fought with a vicious animosity that was reserved for animals who were backed into a corner. His fist smashed across the man’s face as his other hand clutched at the blade, flecks of blood raining down on the concrete.

Bokuto dropped everything in his arms and threw himself out the door, shouting wordless fury and fear as the man smashed a knee into Kuroo’s stomach and his friend dropped like a stone in a river. Kuroo threw his arms up to defend his face as the man pulled the knife back.

Bokuto thought _oh, no_ just as the man struck. He didn’t aim for Kuroo’s face. “Stop it!” he screamed, feet pounding, flying across the parking lot.

The man looked up just as Bokuto was upon them — he had four long gouge marks in his face where Kuroo had attempted to claw his eye out. Bokuto tackled the man with all his weight, throwing him back, away from Kuroo. The man’s knife slashed again but he was dazed from Bokuto’s assault so the swing went wild, and it was easy for Bokuto to slam his fist into the man’s face, knocking him sideways to the ground. Bokuto stomped hard on the man’s fingers until he cried out and released the knife, rolling away as he clutched his fingers to his chest.

Bokuto stepped forward, intent on hurting this man, on knocking his head into the ground until he was unconscious or dead or — but he heard Kuroo let out a pitiful moan behind him. In the moment it took for him to turn and see Kuroo laying in a pool of his own blood. The man stumbled to his feet and raced away, shouting obscenities over his shoulder. The instinct to pursue flared in him for less than a moment, then Bokuto was throwing himself towards Kuroo, dropping to his knees and gathering him in his arms. “Tetsu!”

Kuroo groaned, his voice only half a breath. Blood pooled under him, his own blood, flooding from a long, deep gash in his side. “Ah… shit, Bo…”

Bokuto’s hands trembled as he pressed onto the wound — immediately his fingers were slick and coated in bright red blood. Too red. Too wet. Tears coated his face, fell onto his hands. “J-Just hang on!” he cried, fumbling for Kuroo’s hand so he could press it to the wound. “Put your hand —” he shouted in agony when Kuroo’s hand fell, his eyes fluttering.

Kuroo moaned in pain, his head dropping. Bokuto fumbled in his pocket for his phone, dropped it when the blood made his fingers too wet to properly hold it. Snatching it up, he had to press the buttons three or four times before they registered on the touch screen — his hands were so slick with blood.

“Kou…”

“Shut up,” Bokuto snapped, fear making his voice thick and fury making it harsh. “You so stupid — what were you thinking?!” He pressed the phone to his ear, holding it with his shoulder as he dropped both hands to the wound again. Kuroo’s favorite red jacket had been slashed open… along with the skin underneath. Bokuto tried to press the wound closed, but the skin didn’t want to cooperate. The yellow bone of the bottom of Kuroo’s ribcage peeked out, shy and threatening.

Kuroo whispered, because he didn’t have the strength to do anything else, “He just came at me… don’t know… why.”

“I told you,” Bokuto hissed. “ _I told you_ to put that money up!”

“I did…” Kuroo whined, then closed his eyes in pain as his body arched, the angry red cuts on his fingers spreading streaks of bright red across the dull gray pavement.

Bokuto shouted again, but just then the line clicked and the operator said, “Emergency services, what can I —”

“Ambulance!” Bokuto bellowed into the phone, his fingers pressing _hard_ against the wound, trying to staunch the blood but accomplishing nothing except to make Kuroo cry out in pain. “My friend’s been stabbed.”

“Alright, sir, where are you? I need you to apply pressure to the wound.”

“I am, I am,” Bokuto said, looking around. “We’re at the — fuck what is this goddamn place — Lawson store on — fucking hells where are —”

The operator said, “Lawson Convenience store on Swan Drive?”

“Yes!”

“We already have police on the way. Someone called just a moment ago from inside. I’ll send an ambulance, too. Apply pressure and elevate the area if at all possible. Try to keep your friend conscious.”

Bokuto stared at Kuroo’s pallid, bloodless face. His eyes were closed, mouth slack, his body no longer tense with the pain. “Too late…” Bokuto whispered into the phone as Kuroo’s life’s blood spread in a wider pool around them.

 

* * *

 

Akaashi was back in class for the first time in almost four months. He’d taught the morning classes, gone home to ice his foot and rest, and was back now with his advanced class. They’d all welcomed him back gleefully, but several of them had asked him worriedly if he was okay to be back.

“I’m fine,” he’d told them. “but I can’t actually dance yet. But I can still teach. It’s not like you guys give me as much trouble as the children.”

“Not _you_ ,” Suga said.

Everyone chuckled and Akaashi grinned at him, patting his arm. “I’m sure you deserved it,” he said. “Alright, it’s past time we got started.”

He talked them through the barre — which he would usually do with them — and teased Suga with how lackadaisical everyone had become (which they hadn’t). As he told them combinations to practice across the floor, the music coming from the speaker dulled as the watch on his wrist vibrated with an incoming call. It was an unknown number and Akaashi frowned at it, about to flick it away, when something made him pause.

He didn’t know what it was, but he said to his dancers, “One moment,” and went to go pluck his phone from the speaker. Putting it to his ear he said, “Hello?”

“Akaashi — that you?”

Akaashi blinked in surprise. “Tanaka.” Something in Tanaka’s voice was tight and tense and it worried him. “What’s going on?”

Tanaka was quiet for a short time, for once trying to consider his words instead of blurting out whatever was on his mind. “Are you busy?”

Suga gave him a curious look but he turned away, waving a hand with a _continue_ motion as he walked out the door to the adjoining office. “What’s happened?” He could tell something was wrong. Was it Bokuto? If something had happened to him…

“Well,” Tanaka began, then hesitated.

“Is it Bokuto? “Akaashi asked, frantic.

“No. Well, yes. But no. He’s … not hurt. But he is the problem.”

“I’m sorry?”

Tanaka sighed, frustrated with his inability to convey what he wanted. “Do you know where the big general hospital is?”

Cold fingers of worry seeped into Akaashi’s heart. “Yes…”

“Can you come? Bring Bokuto some clothes…?”

“Is he okay?”

“Uhm.” Tanaka faltered, his voice rising a bit. “Physically, yes. But he’s scaring people.”

“He’s what?” Akaashi asked. “What’s happened?”

“Just come, please. We’re all in the waiting room.” He hung up and Akaashi went back to the studio to find his dancers still working, having turned to Suga in his absence for their direction.

Akaashi went to him, tugging him by the arm to the edge of the room. “I need you to take over.”

Suga cocked his head curiously. “Are you hurting?”

“No. I’ve got to go, though. Something’s happened to … Bokuto or one of his friends. I’m not sure. But something.” He was already taking off his shoes, rolling up his tights and digging through his bag for jeans to pull on over them. Bokuto’s yellow hoodie poked out of his bag and fear clogged his throat again that something had _happened_ to him. Physical ailments weren’t the only thing that could happen to a person. 

The others paused to watch him dress, worry in their eyes. “It’s fine,” he told them. “Finish class. Suga’s in charge.” And he left, tugging Bokuto’s hoodie on over his head as the door closed. He took a moment to put on his street shoes before rushing out. He’d have to go by his apartment to get clothes for Bokuto, then it would only be a ten minute cab ride to the hospital. That was the benefit of big cities, he thought, everything was relatively close. He walked faster, hurrying, forgetting the pain that was leeching into his foot in his haste. It didn’t matter now, anyway — it was just a shadow of what he would feel if Bokuto was taken from him.

 

* * *

 

_(Song Selection: Jaguar - Mogwai)_

When Akaashi stepped into the hospital, he gasped in alarm and froze in the doorway.

Bokuto stood in the waiting room, one hand holding a jacket that once had been red, but was now a dark rust color because of all the blood that had dried on it.

Blood covered Bokuto, too — it coated his hands, smeared across his face, stained his shirt, and soaked his pants. He looked like a demon, eyes wild and wide, standing sentry over his small flock. The rest of the crew sat in chairs behind him, the girls faces streaked red with tears. Daichi sat subdued, face slack with worry, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Noya, Tanaka, and Terushima weren’t their usual, excitable selves. Instead, they slumped in their seats, glancing at Bokuto with quick, nervous glances. And Yaku was beside Kenma, a hand on his shoulder, talking softly to him.

Kenma curled up on a chair, his arms tight around his knees, head buried in them. When he raised his head, just for a moment, his golden brown eyes were swollen and red, tear tracks stained his cheeks. His eyes found Akaashi’s, but they didn’t _see_ him. They flicked to Bokuto’s back, widened a bit as he stared at him. He bit his lip, his mouth trembling, and he ducked his head again, his bleach blonde hair hiding his face even more than his knees.

Bokuto glanced at Akaashi, looked him over, but for the first time didn’t run to him. His eyes were far, far away, and they slid back to the double doors that led to the maze-like bowels of the hospital. Akaashi saw Tanaka nod towards Bokuto, then incline his head towards Kenma.

Akaashi took a step forward, reaching out, but finding no place to touch that wasn’t splattered with blood. “Koutarou,” he whispered, soft as a feather.

Bokuto’s eyes shifted to look at him and Akaashi grit his teeth in an effort not to cry out in fear at the agony and the savage, vengeful wrath that filled them.

He said again, “Koutarou,” when Bokuto made to look away, in order to keep his eyes focused on him. “Come with me.”

“No,” Bokuto growled immediately, adamant.

Akaashi insisted, hardening his voice, “Yes. You’re _scaring_ Kenma. You look a _mess_. I won’t have it.”

Bokuto stared him down, but Akaashi only straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes until Bokuto blinked and shifted, his entire body shuddering as the tension fell out of him. “Sorry…”

Akaashi nodded curtly and ushered him towards the bathroom. Inside, he locked the door and turned on the tap as hot as it would go. “Take that off. Here, give me —”

Bokuto jerked the jacket away from him, refusing to let it go.

Akaashi looked long and hard at him, hand outstretched, until Bokuto finally relented and allowed Akaashi to pull the ruined fabric from his hands.

“Don’t lose it,” Bokuto muttered, insistent. “Kuroo will want it back…”

Akaashi didn’t think the jacket would ever be worn again, but all the same he folded it carefully and set it beside his bag for safe keeping. He pulled Bokuto’s hands under the water, helping him rinse the dried, crusted blood from his skin. It flecked away brown and stained the white porcelain red as it swirled down the drain.

Akaashi pulled handfuls of paper towels from the dispenser, soaking them with soap and water and scrubbing Bokuto’s arms until they were clean and his skin pink from the heat of the water instead of from blood. Bokuto stood stark still through it all, watching as Kuroo’s blood swirled down the drain. It hadn’t been hard to figure out _who_ they were all there for. Only one person was missing; one that would make Kenma cry like that, and one of two people in the whole world that would cause Bokuto’s fury to rise so high and hot in him.

When Akaashi reached up to clean the blood from Bokuto’s face, he finally closed his eyes… but not before Akaashi saw the tears pooling there. He said nothing as they fell, only wiped them away with the blood.

He tugged at the fabric of Bokuto’s shirt until he pulled it off over his head, then kicked away his blood stained pants. Akaashi washed the droplets of blood that had soaked through his clothes to the skin and then took a wadded bunch of paper towels soaked in water to his hair to clean the sweat and dirt and droplets that had stained the tips.

“I’m going to lose him…” Bokuto said, not even a whisper, barely a breath of air. More tears fell down his cheeks.

Akaashi blinked, biting his lip with worry. He reached up, letting his fingers trace over Bokuto’s cheeks and into his hair, pulling Bokuto’s head down to rest on his shoulder as Akaashi wrapped his arms around him. “Shh…” he said gently. “No. No, you’re not.”

Bokuto was trembling in his arms, almost all his weight leaning on Akaashi. But if Bokuto could hold _him_ up in his hour of need, Akaashi would hold Bokuto up when it came his turn. What was love, if not for that?

“You didn’t see… the … wound,” Bokuto moaned softly, pushing his face into Akaashi’s neck, his breath rushing out in ragged little breaths. “The blood. God.” He stumbled, and Akaashi rushed to hook his arms up under Bokuto’s and widen his stance to hold him up. Bokuto wrapped his arms around Akaashi’s shoulders, draping himself over him like a cloak worn the wrong way. “There was so much blood.”

Akaashi held him close, stroking his hands over Bokuto’s wet hair, kissing the skin he could reach. “You won’t lose him. He’s stronger than —”

“Keiji,” Bokuto mumbled. “Don’t. You… didn’t… see.”

Akaashi shook his head, clinging to him, holding him as he cried. Petting his hair and stroking his back while he shivered and gasped. After a time, Bokuto pulled away, sucking in a sharp breath and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Shit,” he said, sniffling.

Akaashi said nothing, watching him as he leaned down to splash ice cold water onto his face, then duck his head under the faucet, arms braced on either side of the sink. He lifted his head, the water soaking down his back and into his eyes. Akaashi had a towel in his bag, luckily, which he pulled out and draped over Bokuto’s hair, scrubbing gently.

“You can’t do that,” he told Bokuto. “You can’t act deranged. Poor Kenma is scared enough without you adding onto his fears.” He pulled the towel up, pushing it back over his hair — now slightly more fluffy from Akaashi’s scrubbing — and down over his neck.

Bokuto took it from him and began to dry himself. “I … guess I looked a little crazy.”

”A little?” Akaashi raised his eyebrow.

“A bit,” Bokuto admitted, looking over at him. “I guess you got me clothes?”

Akaashi picked up his bag and set it on the counter, open, and watched while Bokuto dressed. “What happened?” he asked, gently, as Bokuto was buttoning his pants.

“I don’t know… some stranger attacked him. I don’t know why. He’s got…” Bokuto motioned to his side vaguely. “I could see his _bones_ , Keiji.”

Akaashi leaned against the sink, pulling the sleeves of Bokuto’s hoodie over his hands against the chill on his fingers. “I’ve seen a few sets of bones myself.”

Bokuto shook his head. “It wasn’t broken.” His voice shook. “It was _exposed._ ”

Akaashi had nothing to say to that. So Bokuto shook his head, unable to explain, and finished scrubbing his hair until it was messy and mostly dry.

Then there was a _thump_ at the door as someone tried to open it and failed since it was locked. Terushima shouted through it, “Doctor!”

Bokuto lurched towards the door, fumbling with the lock and yanking it open before rushing out. Akaashi took only a moment to shove the clothes into his bag, and push as much of the paper towels into the trash bin as he could before following him.

Bokuto was standing next to the doctor, who was kneeling beside Kenma, talking to him. Kenma was visibly shaking as he stared at the doctor and by the time Akaashi got close enough to hear he was sobbing.

“… not out of danger yet,” the doctor was saying, “but we’re hopeful. We managed to close up all the internal wounds. Now it’s up to him.”

Yaku had his arm around Kenma, hugging him close as he pressed his hands to his face. Bokuto looked up to catch Akaashi’s eye, just to know that he was there, then he leaned down to the doctor and asked, “You’re giving him things for the pain?”

“He’s on the strongest anesthesia we have — he was just in surgery.” The doctor stood to face him. “Give it some time… and if he wakes up we’ll be able to treat him better. Manage his pain. We’ll keep him on antibiotics and sedation medication so he does not move too much and rip the stitches — inside and out.”

Yukie was crying again, relief in her tears instead of fear. Saeko was hugging her, patting her hair, whispering to her. Akaashi stood outside them and watched as they learned that, at least for now, Kuroo was alive. He, too, was relieved. Kuroo was almost his friend. But Kuroo’s friends were his friends, and he would hate for them to be hurt.

Bokuto came back to him, pulled him closer to the group. Akaashi moved to stand beside Kenma, leaning down and touching a hand to his arm. “Do you need anything?”

Kenma shook his head, eyes blank, lost in his own thoughts.

“Go home,” Bokuto told the others. “We’ll call you if —”

“You go, too,” the doctor said. “All of you. There’s nothing you can do for him and we’re keeping him under heavy, heavy sedation for now. Go and rest, come back when he wakes.”

Kenma was already shaking his head, but Daichi leaned close and said to Akaashi, “Take him home. Make him sleep.”

“No!” Kenma protested, but Bokuto was right beside him.

“Yes,” he insisted, looking at Akaashi. “Sleep for a bit. Kuroo would have my head if you weren’t taken care of.”

Kenma was shaking his head, hunkering down. “No. No, no. I won’t leave — I won’t go.”

“Listen,” Akaashi said, putting an arm around him. “He’s right. You haven’t slept at all — it’ll be better for you to _rest_.”

Daichi stood, waving a hand at the general room. “I can drive us back to your place.”

“No!” Kenma shrieked, making them all jump with his loudness. _“I won’t leave him.”_

Bokuto watched him, looking solemn. Then finally, he nodded. “I’ll stay, too.”

In solidarity, Akaashi sat on the vacant chair, and Kenma leaned into him, fresh tears on his cheeks. “Don’t go,” he whispered.

Akaashi looked down at him, tightening his arm. “I’m here,” he said.

“He’ll wake up, right?” Kenma asked, voice ragged and thick.

“Of course he will,” Akaashi told him firmly, glancing up to meet Bokuto’s eyes, the both of them hoping beyond hope that the words were true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry kuroo bb <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: All is Violent, All is Bright - God is an Astronaut)_

“Keiji,” Bokuto whispered.

Akaashi shifted in his seat, mumbling, his neck aching as he woke. “Mhm… what?” He sat up, frowning, rubbing an eye with his hand. “Where’s Kenma?”

“Drink machine,” Bokuto told him, looking across the lobby. Akaashi followed his eyes and saw Kenma at said machine, but Akaashi didn’t think he was really picking out a drink.

Akaashi looked at his watch. “It’s officially morning.”

“And you slept for two hours. Drooled on my shirt.”

“Did not,” Akaashi muttered, rubbing his face with the hoodie.

Bokuto grinned at him, but before he could speak a nurse came out of the double doors and looked around curiously. “Party for… Kuroo?”

Kenma turned, but looked frozen on the spot, so Akaashi went to him and put an arm around him to draw him with them as they followed the nurse back. She led the three of them into a small room where the lights were dim and the monitors blinked Kuroo’s steady, rhythmic heartbeat. Kenma stepped into the room, took one look at Kuroo’s pale form on the bed, made a tiny sound, and would have collapsed had Bokuto not caught him by the arms and held him up.

“Please be careful,” the nurse said gently, motioning to Kuroo. “He’s on heavy medication… but we think he’s out of danger for the moment. Try not to step on any wires or —”

“We know,” Akaashi told her. “Thank you.”

Bokuto helped Kenma to Kuroo’s bedside, where he sank into a chair and laid his head on Kuroo’s bed, gripping Kuroo’s hand in both his own. Bokuto stood over them, looking helpless and frightened. When the nurse left, Akaashi went to sit on the tiny couch behind them, not wanting to intrude.

Kenma sat up, pressing a hand to his eyes. “He looks dead…”

Bokuto shook his head. “Trust me,” he said, “he looks better now than the last time I saw him.” Kenma shot him a foul look and Bokuto shrugged feebly. “What? It’s true.” He turned away, pacing around the small room, back and forth, back and forth, the crisp sound of his shoes on the linoleum cracking in their ears. Their eyes followed him for several long minutes until Kenma lay his head back down on the bed.

Akaashi tried to keep his patience in check, but after the minute hand had gone around the clock multiple times he finally snapped, “Koutarou. _Please_.”

Bokuto looked over at him, eyes wide. “What?”

“Sit down.”

He did, coming to plop beside Akaashi on the small, uncomfortable couch so that Akaashi had to squish himself into the side.

“Thank you,” Akaashi sighed, leaning on his shoulder and tucking his feet up under him. “I needed a pillow.” He closed his eyes, not needing to feign his need for sleep. Bokuto shifted under him, then put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. It didn’t take him long until he felt himself drifting off…

And when next he opened his eyes, Bokuto was snoring softly above him. He didn’t move, not because he didn’t want to wake Bokuto (Bokuto could sleep through a tornado) but because he saw that Kuroo was awake and Kenma was lying half on top of him, crying again — soft, gentle sobs as he sucked in great, heaving breaths. Kuroo’s good arm was around him, fingers gently stroking his hair.

“It’s okay,” Kuroo was whispering into his hair. “I’m okay.”

“You almost _died_ ,” Kenma cried. “I — You _can’t_ leave me.”

Kuroo sighed, wincing in pain, but tightening his arm around Kenma. “I told you I wouldn’t leave you, didn’t I?”

“…but that was so long ago.”

“That doesn’t matter. I meant it for forever.”

Kenma’s voice was a soft whisper, “That’s illogical.”

“Then as long as you love me, I’ll love you.” Kuroo turned his head to kiss Kenma’s, and caught Akaashi’s eye. Akaashi didn’t say anything, only lowered his eyes, closing them again to give them some semblance of privacy. They lowered their voices, and Akaashi found himself trying to block them out so as not to intrude, listening to Bokuto’s heart as it beat in his chest until the steady, metronomic rhythm lulled him to sleep again. 

Some time later, Bokuto was shaking him awake. “Keiji, come on.”

Akaashi mumbled, a bit disoriented because he’d been dreaming about the studio he’d went to when he was a child, in a city far away. “Sorry, what?”

Bokuto chuckled, helping him sit up and patting his shoulder. “It’s lunch time.”

Akaashi looked up to see Kuroo was still awake, but Kenma had fallen asleep beside him. A nurse was standing at the little counter on the wall, pulling out fresh gauze. “Time to change your bandages,” she said, perfunctory but kind.

Kuroo looked down to where Kenma was passed out lying half on the bed and reached down to touch his shoulder. Kenma jumped and sat up like he’d been electrocuted. Then he looked startled to find that he’d fallen asleep in the first place. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his face with his hands.

“It’s okay,” Kuroo said, rubbing his arm. He looked up at Bokuto, nodding at Kenma. “Take him home?”

Kenma looked shocked. “No, I —”

“Please,” Kuroo said. “You need to take care of yourself, too. I’ll be fine. I’m a mess, anyway.”

The nurse leaned over and told them helpfully, “We’re going to be re-administering his medication, so he’ll be out like a light soon.”

Kenma still looked troubled. “I’d rather stay…”

Kuroo looked over at Bokuto, who had stood to move to the foot of the bed. “Take him home, would you?”

Bokuto nodded, reaching out to take Kenma’s arm gently. “He’s right. Come on, you look exhausted.”

It took several minutes of gentle arguments and coaxing for Kenma to finally relent, promising to return later that evening. As they were leaving Kuroo called out, “Hey, Akaashi.”

Akaashi turned, surprised. “Yes?”

“Make sure he eats, but don’t let Bokuto feed him.”

Akaashi laughed as Bokuto made a disgruntled face. “I will,” Akaashi told him. “Promise.”

“Then put him to bed,” Kuroo said, wincing as the nurse began to change the bandages. Akaashi saw the long arching bright red wound stitched together with thick, black stitches. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably and he had to look away.

“I promise,” Akaashi said. “I … — Y’know. Feel better. Call if you need anything. Between all of us, I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Thanks.” Kuroo nodded, then waved a hand to dismiss them when the nurse began cleaning the wound with an orange antiseptic liquid. His face, already quite pale to begin with, was going three shades paler, and Bokuto ushered them out.

 

* * *

 

Back at the house, they walked in on the rest of the crew hanging out in Bokuto and Kuroo’s living room as if they lived there, too. When they entered, there was a cacophony of cries that made Kenma jump and shrink behind Bokuto, but they quieted with a sharp look from Akaashi.

“Shut up,” Bokuto snapped, reaching back and tucking Kenma under his arm for protection.

The ones who had jumped up to run to them sat back down quickly, but Daichi and Yaku turned to look over the couch at the three of them.

“How is he?” Yaku asked. “How are you?”

Kenma didn’t look at him as he said, “He’s awake…”

Daichi frowned at him. “And?”

Seeing how uncomfortable Kenma looked, Akaashi turned Bokuto around, gently pushing him to the back hall. “Make sure he showers. I’ll make some food.”

They vanished down the hall and Akaashi went to the kitchen with the questions of the others following him. He ignored them until they quieted down then said, “From what Kenma said on the ride back he’ll be in the hospital a few weeks. He’s in a lot of pain, obviously, but the doctors are pretty certain he’ll make a full recovery. They’re worried about infection and all that stuff, but they’re giving him medicine to fight that.”

Daichi nodded, sighing with relief. “Thank God.”

“But… he’ll be down a long time?” Terushima asked, twisting around to look back into the kitchen where Akaashi was perusing the cabinets, making an inventory of all they had in the kitchen… which wasn’t much.

Akaashi nodded. “I’m afraid so.” He found a pen and a notepad and began making a list of things he’d need from the little grocery store down the street. He dug through the junk drawer and found handfuls of small bills and coins, then looked up to the others. “Nishinoya, could you run an errand for me?”

Noya leapt up, grinning. “Sure thing! What do you need?” He bounced over to stand in front of Akaashi, bright eyed and excited that he could be helpful in this hour of need.

“Could you go to the store down the road for me?”

“The one with — oh! Yes. I can do that!”

Akaashi frowned down at him when he remembered that the store he was planning on sending him to had Noya’s favorite brand of ice cream, and sometimes he would spend half an hour agonizing over which one he wanted. Akaashi didn’t _know_ that Noya would waste time doing it this time, but he did need Noya to hurry if he was going to have the food ready for Kenma when he got out of the shower. So he made a face and pretended to rethink his decision. “Actually…” he said, touching a finger to his chin in feigned, exaggerated thought, “I’m not so sure you can do it. It’s quite a long list…”

Noya gasped in dismay. “What?! No, I can do it!”

Akaashi shook his head. “Mhm… no. I need someone fast and —”

Tanaka leapt up with a grin. “I’m faster than him!”

Noya whipped around in annoyance. “You are not!”

“Am so!”

Akaashi smiled, and ripped the list in half so each side had the same amount if items on it. He handed each piece to them and said, “Whoever gets back first gets the _second_ helping.”

They snatched the papers and were out the door almost before Akaashi finished speaking. After they were gone he flopped on the couch, suddenly exhausted all over again and rolled his head, trying to undo the crick in his neck, turning his ankle to relieve the ache that was developing. When he opened his eyes again he noticed that everyone was grinning at him. “What?” he asked, uncomfortable.

Saeko giggled, sitting back and watching him with a glimmer in her eye. “You’re learning to control them.”

“Oh, psh,” Akaashi huffed. “It’s nothing like that. I just needed that list taken care of and I needed it done quickly.”

“So you made it a game for them,” Yaku said, laughing. “I’m impressed.”

Coming back down the hallway, Bokuto looked just as tired as Akaashi felt. He sat beside Akaashi, letting out a puff of air as he did. “He’s in the shower. I thought you were making food?”

“I sent Noya and Tanaka to the store,” Akaashi told him. “They’ll be back soon.”

Bokuto raised his eyebrow in question but Daichi was nodding his approval so Bokuto only laughed, but after a moment he became gravely serious. “Until Kuroo’s home… try not to talk to Kenma about him, okay?” he said to the room at large.

Akaashi turned to frown at him. “What? Why?”

“It’ll upset him,” Bokuto said, like it was obvious and Akaashi was stupid for asking.

But Akaashi was already shaking his head. “No.” He turned to the room and said again, “No. Don’t do that. Talk to him about him.” Bokuto opened his mouth to protest but Akaashi cut him off. “I mean it. _Not_ talking about him will only upset Kenma worse. Talk to him about good times, remind him what it’s like to laugh. He’s finding that very hard at the moment.”

Bokuto was scowling at him, but he only shrugged and leaned back, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Whatever. But if he gets upset…” he trailed off, huffing to himself.

“Comfort him, that’s what you do,” Akaashi said firmly, glaring at Bokuto because _he_ thought Bokuto was stupid for suggesting making Kuroo a taboo in the first place.

The rest of the room looked between them, uneasy with the prickly way they spoke to each other. But Akaashi reached over to take Bokuto’s hand, saying gently, “He’s stronger than you seem to think he is.” He watched Bokuto for a moment, until the big man relented and squeezed his hand, relaxing into the couch.

“Alright…” he sighed.

“Besides,” Akaashi continued, “it’s not like he’s the only one upset by this.”

Yaku said, “Yeah, dude, you look like shit, too.”

Bokuto shot him an annoyed look. “I haven’t slept in, like, twenty hours.”

“My point is,” Akaashi said, “we’re all upset. We all have to support each other. And when Kuroo comes home, we’ll have to support him, too.”

Saeko smiled at him. “Very well put.”

Later, after Noya and Tanaka had raced back to the house, a mere twenty minutes after Akaashi had sent them out (a record, by all accounts), and Akaashi had made lunch, he took it back to Kenma and Kuroo’s bedroom, knocking gently before entering. “Hungry?”

Kenma was on the bed, curled up in his pajamas with blankets over his shoulders and his laptop at his feet. He shrugged, and Akaashi came in to stand beside the bed and held out the lunch he’d made. “Thank you,” Kenma said, shifting over a bit in a silent invitation for Akaashi to sit.

“What are you doing?” Akaashi asked, glancing at the laptop screen. On it was a series of windows, some with photos and a video playing in the corner — Kuroo and Bokuto doing something silly in the park, which ended with the both of them falling into the fountain.

Kenma took a bit of the thick rice porridge Akaashi had made him and smiled at it, pleased. “Old videos. Photographs. Just… memories.”

Akaashi smiled. “Bokuto told me you kept a scrapbook.”

“It’s not a … it’s not on paper. I don’t put stickers on it or anything. I just … collect pictures and stuff. It’s nice to have. Especially now.” They watched the video while Bokuto and Kuroo wrestled in the fountain until a cop rushed over and screamed at them until they climbed out, soaking and dirty, but grinning like maniacs.

“They’re lunatics,” Akaashi said, laughing.

Kenma nodded, smiling, eating more. After a time, the video ended and switched to the next one, in which Kuroo was chasing Nishinoya around the couch for unknown reasons, everyone laughing except for Kuroo, who looked annoyed. Eventually he leapt over the couch and tackled Noya to the ground, trying to claw something out of his hands. They watched various videos, with Kenma occasionally telling him background or what had happened after the video or other anecdotes that had Akaashi giggling and trying not to shake the bed too much.

When Kenma was done eating, Akaashi took the bowl and pushed the laptop to the side of the bed. “Try and sleep, okay?”

Kenma sighed, but nodded and pulled the blankets up around him as he lay down, watching a new video that had begun to play. So Akaashi left him there, closing the door softly behind him, and hoping that he, too, could sleep for a few hours before he either went back to the hospital with them or to his evening classes.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Asiatic - Maybeshewill)_

 

Akaashi could count on one hand the number of times that he’d awoken before Bokuto. And considering they slept together almost every night, whether in his apartment or at Bokuto’s house, that was quite a feat. Bokuto was a ball of energy from the moment he woke up to the second he fell asleep, and when he woke up in the morning he was always excited to start the day and would leap out of bed after kissing Akaashi awake and run to make coffee since Akaashi was utterly useless before coffee in the morning.

This morning, it was as if one moment Akaashi was asleep, and the next fully awake. This happened only a handful of times a year with him, and he hated it _every time_. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, so he sat up, yawning, wincing when something in his jaw popped. When he stretched his arms up above his head one of his shoulders made a loud, painful sound, and he groaned as he stretched his back. Not every vertebrae in his spine popped, but it was a damn near thing. His knees clicked when he straightened his legs, and when he rolled his ankles and wiggled his toes they made little crackling sounds. Everything felt so stiff, and he longed to warm up all his muscles.

He turned to wake up Bokuto, only to find him already awake, wide eyed and looking both horrified and fascinated.

“What?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“I didn’t realize I was dating a bowl of Rice Krispie cereal.”

Akaashi snorted, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck — and being rewarded with the pleasurable pain of a few pops in his neck that left him feeling a bit more awake. “Ah, that’s right, you’re normally in the kitchen getting coffee when I first get up.”

Bokuto grinned a slow, sleepy smile. “Speaking of _up_ …” True to form, Bokuto had kicked away most of his blankets in the night, and lay gloriously naked and stretched out… and on display.

Akaashi laughed, shaking his head and pulling his legs up to lean on his knees as he let his gaze appreciate the near perfect specimen that was Bokuto Koutarou. “We can’t be late today. We’re picking up your best friend from the hospital.”

“He’d be alright if I told him _why_ we were late.”

“He would _not_. He’d be pissed!”

Bokuto reached a hand out and trailed his fingers down Akaashi’s spine. “He’d understand. Especially if he saw you naked, he’d _really_ understand.” He put his fingers around Akaashi’s arm, tugging gently until he leaned over, spreading himself out along Bokuto’s side and kissing him.

Normally, Akaashi hated doing literally anything before coffee in the morning, but he’d learned that sometimes Bokuto was better than coffee. Bokuto was still warm from sleep, letting off his own heat like a sun, and Akaashi cuddled close, an orbiting planet, throwing a leg over Bokuto’s to get even closer. Bokuto’s hands slid down his slides, landing on his hips and lifting him onto his lap.

Akaashi gasped, pulling away even as his hips betrayed him. “Kou, we can’t…”

Bokuto’s mouth chased him, tracing Akaashi’s lips with his tongue so he moaned and opened for him. “Quickie…”

Akaashi tried to protest, but Bokuto’s fingers slid across his ass, pulling their bodies together and all the protests fizzled out on his tongue.

Then a knock at the door made them both jump, and Akaashi jerked himself away from Bokuto like he was a hot flame. He buried himself under blankets, hoping against hope that the door _wouldn’t open_. Bokuto chuckled, sitting up and patting Akaashi’s head through the covers, not caring that he was naked. “Yeah?”

Kenma’s voice came through the closed door, “Just wanted to ask…”

“We’ll be ready!” Bokuto said back when Kenma trailed off. “Don’t worry. When do we need to go?”

Kenma was quiet a moment, and Akaashi reached an arm out, fumbling at the bedside table and eventually found his watch, which he pulled close to himself to see that it was already eight thirty.

“Maybe half an hour?” Kenma said, sounding like he hated even reminding them that they’d promised to help him get Kuroo home. As if they were being inconvenienced by it.

“Will do!” Bokuto yelled. They both waited, but Kenma said nothing else, and when it was clear he’d gone Bokuto leaned over and pulled the blankets from Akaashi’s shoulders to trail kisses across his back.

“Stop.” Akaashi laughed, twisting his wrist as he placed his watch on it. “We can’t.”

“Won’t take long,” Bokuto murmured, practically laying on top of Akaashi now, burying his nose in his hair. Akaashi felt the truth of his words against his thigh, and breathed a sigh when Bokuto’s hands cupped his ass and his teeth grazed gently across the back of his neck.

“Mhm…” Akaashi hummed, shifting to get his knees under him, the tingling in his belly making his brain go a little fuzzy. “Hurry, I’ll need to shower afterwards.”

Half an hour and a crowded shower later, they walked out the door and Kenma asked, “Akaashi, can you drive?”

Akaashi looked up from checking the heartbeat monitor on his watch— amused at the way he’d captured their morning romp. “Huh?”

Bokuto was twirling the keys around his finger. “I can drive.”

“Not when we get Kuroo. You’ll kill him. He’s too fragile for your lead foot.”

Akaashi snickered. “That’s true. But, yeah, I can drive… or, I have, before.” He’d driven his friends car in high school, and he had a license, but he’d never had a car of his own, nor had he ever needed one. “Do you not drive, Kenma?”

Now it was Bokuto’s turn to laugh. “No, he’s too scared.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not — “ he huffed. “The _danger_ involved in —”

“So, no,” Bokuto said. “He can’t. Never learned.”

Folding his arms, looking aggravated, Kenma muttered, “I know the principals of it. I understand how it works. I can even fix an engine.”

“But you can’t drive.”

“I can’t stand dealing with other drivers.” He looked to Akaashi. “I’d like it if you drove us there and back. I would rather not have to call an ambulance for Kuroo as soon as we get him home because he’s got internal bleeding from Bokuto’s awful driving.”

“I’m not awful—”

“You are,” Akaashi told him firmly. “How you’re not dead is beyond me. Sure, I’ll drive.”

It took several minutes of insistence from the both of them, but Bokuto eventually handed over the keys, saying, “If you hurt Clarence…”

“I won’t hurt Clarence!” Akaashi snatched the keys from him, shaking his head. “He can’t be hurt by anything less than an apocalyptic event at this point.”

Kenma said, “And even then…”

 

* * *

 

Kuroo looked like a water logged, disgruntled old alley cat when they wheeled him out of the hospital. “This is humiliating,” he said as the nurse stopped beside the car.

“Regulations,” she countered, locking the brakes on the wheelchair. “Where do you want to go?”

Bokuto opened the back door and the nurse helped him into the back then turned to Kenma. “You have the discharge paperwork? Good, now, keep up with the medications, all the information is there for you. If you have any problems or concerns, don’t hesitate to call us.”

“Thank you,” Kenma said, folding the papers into his bag.

She left, taking the wheelchair with her, and Kuroo said, “M’kay — now that that’s over with, gimme the keys.” And he attempted to pull himself out of the car until all three of them shouted at him.

“You can’t drive!” Kenma complained, pushing him back by the shoulders while Bokuto crowded against the door to keep him down.

“Well who _else_ can drive? Bokuto’ll kill me!” Akaashi held up the car keys and Kuroo gasped aloud, as if he’d done something blasphemous. “You?” He turned to Kenma for confirmation.

“He’s fine,” Kenma told him. “Only one little hiccup…”

Akaashi made a face and snapped, “And that was Bokuto’s fault more than mine.”

Kuroo raised his eyebrows, looking between the three of them. Kenma said, “He ran a light—”

“I did _not_ ,” Akaashi huffed. “It changed just as we went through the intersection and he”—Akaashi pointed an accusatory finger at Bokuto—“was screaming _go go go go_ in my ear!”

Bokuto was laughing so hard he had to lean against Clarence to stay upright. “You had plenty of time! That’s the longest light on the whole drive, I didn’t want to be stuck!”

Both Kenma and Akaashi were glowering at him, but that didn’t deter his fit of giggles until he clutched at the door handle and sank into the passenger seat. “Come on, come on.”

Kuroo was shaking his head. “I’ve survived one life threatening event this month, I’m sure I can survive another.”

And survive they did — the drive back was uneventful. And when they were safely in the driveway they saw Terushima and Daichi’s cars along the curb. Bokuto helped Kuroo out of the car, Kuroo leaning against him and trying not to make pitiful pained noises.

When they walked inside, they were bombarded with shouts and questions from the crew, who had taken up temporary residence in their living room.

“You're back!”

“Kuroo!”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Was the food shitty?”

“You gonna have a _scar?_ ”

They ignored the questions and the people while Bokuto helped Kuroo hobble to the couch and sit carefully on it. He groaned as he did so, snaking an arm around his middle in pain.

The anxious eyes of everyone watched them until Kuroo cracked open an eye and said, “The fuck are you people doing in my house?” He couldn't keep a straight face, half of his mouth turning up.

Terushima said, “We’re worried about you, you ass.”

“I’m invincible.”

Noya threw his arms in the air. “You’re a god!”

Akaashi chuckled, shaking his head where he stood in the kitchen beside Kenma, who was setting a pot of tea on to boil. “How are you?”

“It’s so hectic. The hospital, the drive, these lunatics. I hate doing anything with Bo and Kuroo without a group of people they can bother other than me — they _drain_ me.”

Akaashi gave him a little knowing smile. The car ride had been loud, the two of them arguing over a radio station until Akaashi turned it off and shot furious glares at Bokuto until he stopped turning it back on while Kuroo complained in the background. “Yeah, I can see that. Don’t worry, now that he’s home he’ll just sit there and soak up the limelight until he’s exhausted, then Kou will put him to bed and you can kick the others out.”

Kenma chuckled, amused. “I like that idea. I’m just ready to go back to bed.” He had dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. After that first day where he’d slept a few hours after Akaashi had made him lunch, he’d barely slept more than an hour or two at a time, and Akaashi was worried about him. Hopefully, now that Kuroo was home safe and had a month or so of rest ahead of him, Kenma would get to sleep and rest with him.

“It won’t take long,” Akaashi said. “He’s in pain, you can tell.”

Kenma grimaced, but nodded. “He’s going to try and comfort them, first. Tell them he’s fine.”

They both watched as Kuroo did just that — he even reached out and put an arm around Saeko who sat next to him, pulling her into a gentle hug. “I'll be okay. I’ll be down for a while, but I’ll be fine.”

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I— I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling, wiping at her eyes. “I didn’t meant to…”

“It’s okay.” He pulled her close enough that he could kiss her head. “I promise. Nothing to worry about.”

“So… what happened?” Tanaka asked, looking nervously at Bokuto who glowered at him.

But Kuroo waved him down and explained in stops and starts exactly what had happened that day at the convenience store, having to ask Bo to chime in halfway through because he had no memory after a certain point. And Bokuto was unhappy about the retelling. He just wanted to forget it ever happened and move past it, especially the way he’d acted afterwards, which he’d told Akaashi he was now embarrassed about.

Noya asked about the food in the hospital, because of course he would be the one to ask, and that sent Kuroo into an aggravated tangent about the hospital’s embargo on salt, and how they refused to give him more than one packet for their bland, flat food. At this he attempted to turn to Kenma and Akaashi in the kitchen, but yelped in pain and resorted to simply shouting to be heard, “I want ramen! The saltiest ramen you can make! Douse that bitch in salt!”

Kenma said flatly, “No.”

“What?! I’m an invalid, you said you’d take care of me. Koz, you’re heartless.”

The rest of the crew was cackling at his distress, even Akaashi turned to make the cups of tea to hide his smile as Kenma said, “I’ll make you ramen, but I won’t put any more salt than is necessary. If I do you’ll just complain about it and throw it away and I’m not wasting food when you two lazies can’t hold down a job.”

Terushima leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll get you ramen, bro.”

Kuroo grinned. “Shio, please.”

“Done.”

Kenma shook his head, turning away and going to his bedroom in a huff. Akaashi glanced at the two tea cups he’d started, and quietly put one of them away. He’d take him a cup later if Kuroo took too long to get exhausted. But he was already a little pale, the sheen of sweat on his forehead betrayed just how much pain he was in, even though he hid it well. Akaashi decided that he’d have to pull Bokuto aside and get him to put Kuroo to bed sooner rather than later.

He checked his watch, realizing that he’d have to go soon. He’d begged off his morning classes to help with the hospital things, but he needed to get to the studio to finish the monthly payment paperwork that Jun had asked him to do. It would take him at least two hours, and he had his night class to prepare for, too. He wanted to take a nap — it was true, Bokuto and Kuroo were _exhausting_ together.

 

* * *

 

_(Song Selection: Cherish - The Mad Violinist)_

Akaashi checked his watch, frowning. Suga had never been late, and Oikawa usually _texted_ when he was going to be late because of his uni classes or if he was too busy to come because of a project he was working on. Neither of them had so much as sent a _be there soon_ text.

It worried him, but the rest of the class was here waiting, so he had no choice but to begin. Everyone noticed Suga was missing, and several kept glancing at his empty spot at the barre. Maybe they were sick. _Or,_ Akaashi thought, _maybe they’ve finally died from all the sex they claim they’re having. Just forgot to hydrate and shriveled up and died._ It made him chuckle, and had to walk away from helping Kaori with a position of her foot before she asked what was so funny.

They were almost through barre when the front door slammed closed and Akaashi turned to see Suga stalking past the studio, through the office, and towards the smaller, more personal studio in the back.

Akaashi didn’t know quite what to make of that, and thought that maybe he was going to change or go to the bathroom, so he finished out the combination they were on, but when Suga never came back he began to get worried.

He handed the remote to the stereo to Alisa, saying, “Finish out the barre. _Frappés, développés, battements_ — the usual. If I’m not back, do fifteen minutes of stretching then work on the center combination we did last time.”

She nodded, without stopping her motions, and he left them to their own devices, moving through the tiny hallway and glancing in the locker and storage rooms searching until he came to the other studio door, which was firmly shut. This studio was significantly smaller than the main one, so he couldn’t get away with opening the door and poking his head in without Suga seeing him — probably.

He could hear through the door one of Oikawa’s compositions, a slow piano piece with high, sweet violin overlaid. He’d made it in his first year of university and Suga had always had a particular fondness for it. When he did open the door, he found that Suga wasn’t dancing at all, but sitting in the middle of the room, curled over on himself, looking like he was bowing or praying or having an emotional meltdown.

He slipped inside, closing the door behind him and walking over. When he crouched beside him and touched a hand to his shoulder he felt the minute shakes of his muscles and, when Suga lifted his face to see who was with him, Akaashi saw how red his eyes were and fresh tears in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting beside him and inching closer, unsure if he should hug him or not. He’d never seen Suga upset before, not like this, and didn’t know the right way to comfort him.

Suga glanced at him, then laid his head back on the floor, curling over his lap. He was quiet for a long time while Oikawa’s love song played around them, then he said in a low, flat voice, “I got a callback from ABC.”

Akaashi blinked, his heart inflating with happiness. ABC was the American Ballet Company. “That’s great!” he said automatically, smiling. Then… he took a moment to pause, and consider. “They’re prestigious.” Another pause, this one shorter as an inkling of comprehension dawned. “… and far away.”

Suga nodded. “And far away,” he echoed, sitting up and wiping the back of his hand across his cheek to try and get rid of the tears. “There’s a choreographer there who’s working on an original production… and he likes me for the lead.”

Akaashi stared at him, because while this sounded like great news, Suga’s voice was hollow and rough, like he’d been screaming or sobbing or both. “That’s … “ he pulled his hand away as Suga shifted, pushing his legs out in front of him and sighing heavily. “You don’t sound happy about that.”

“I am,” Suga told him, sliding his hands all the way down to his feet, not looking at him as he laid his forehead on his knees.

“Are you sure?”

Suga sighed heavily, sitting up and staring at the ceiling. “Tooru isn’t.”

“… Ohhh…”

“Mhm-hmm.” Suga sighed again, this time with a little groan as he rubbed his face. “God. I can’t believe… I mean — he never said I shouldn’t go, but he doesn’t want me to. Or he does, but he also _doesn’t_.”

“He’s always encouraged you to follow your dreams.”

Suga finally looked at him, eyes wide and entreating. “But my dreams have never taken me away from him, that’s the problem.”

Akaashi shifted, uncomfortably aware that he too would face this problem one day if he ever got accepted anywhere. He and Bokuto had never talked about that, and he wondered what would happen if they did. “But it wouldn’t be forever,” Akaashi said. “Only, what, a year or two? Depending on when he wants the production to take place.”

“Something like that,” Suga mumbled, looking disheartened. “I said that too, but…” He drew his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them. “I… I don’t know if… we’d do well in a long distance thing.”

Akaashi had to resist the urge to gasp. Oikawa and Suga … not together? It was a horrifying and heartbreaking thought. “Why do you think that?”

Suga huffed. “Oikawa’s a flirt, I’ve always known that. Even if he doesn’t mean it, and I know he’d never cheat on me… but… if I’m _gone_ … It just seems wrong to ask him to wait for me.”

“But… do you think he would?”

“He said he would.”

Akaashi hesitated, because that seemed like a solution to him. “If he will, and you won’t cheat on him —”

“Of course not.”

“Then…” he let his question trail off, unsure if finishing it would be rude or not: _what’s the problem?_

“I just.” Suga flapped his hands helplessly. “I don’t want us to try and _fail_. And I told him that — maybe we just take a _break_ , y’know? That way if… if something _does_ happen with someone else it won’t be so… so bad.” Tears were beginning to fill his eyes again, but he looked angry instead of sad. “And he got mad. And he said he would never, and did I think I as going to go and sleep with other dancers — and I yelled at him cause _of course_ _I wouldn’t_ but — but what _if._ I mean — “ He was beginning to ramble, his words tumbling from his lips faster and faster. “You just don’t know what will happen and I’d rather us not be dating and trying to be exclusive in case something happens and — it would just be better if we didn’t have to think about that. I even mentioned, I told him, I said ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ and he got all uppity”—his voice mimicked Oikawa’s —“ ’What would I _do_ in New York City while you’re dancing all day?’ I said he could audition for the Philharmonic there, and he got even _more mad_. ‘Koushi I don’t want to play other people’s music — I want to create my own! I thought you knew that!’ And I _do know that_ I just thought he could come with me so we could be together but he wouldn’t even consider it.” Suga dropped his head to his knees again, pushing his hands into his hair and gripping hard.

Akaashi chewed on his lip in frustration. It was true that Oikawa was good enough to be a part of any orchestra he wanted to be, he’d worked hard his entire life and he could look at a piece of music and play it nearly from memory after only an hour or two. He was just that good. But it was for that very reason that he preferred improvisation, and creating his own pieces and why he was going to university for music theory and composition in both classical and contemporary styles.

“And then,” Suga was saying, his voice muffled by his knees, “we said some… not nice things to each other. I threw something at him — missed, thank God; but after that he screamed at me, saying I was an idiot and I told him he was selfish for trying to keep me here… and I left. I — … I almost… “ He shuddered with despair as he moaned. “God, I almost kicked his violin off the stand by the door. It might have broken… I didn’t, but I… I was just so upset. This was supposed to be a good thing. We worked on that audition piece for months…”

Akaashi reached out and pulled his hands from his hair, worried he’d rip it out. He held Suga’s hands and waited until he looked up before saying, “It _is_ a good thing. You deserve it.”

“But Tooru—”

“Is worried he’s going to lose you. That’s all.”

Suga shook his head, his eyes shining with tears that had yet to fall. “He won’t. I love him.”

“Then you both just need to calm down and _talk_ about it. Keep your emotions in check and try to figure out what would be best for both of you. It’ll be hard, and it might be sad, but you’ll figure it out if you work together.”

Suga stared at him, his eyes searching Akaashi’s face as if trying to find the answer to his conundrum there. “I know…” He looked away, pulling his hands back and taking a moment to lay flat on his back, stretching his arms up over his head as he inhaled a long, slow breath and let it out in a meditative, calming habit. “But I… I don’t know if I can go back just yet. It seems like it’s too soon.”

Akaashi leaned his elbow on his knee, propping his chin in his hand as he watched Suga raise both legs in the air and wiggle his toes in thought. “You could go to my place.”

Suga’s brows drew down in confusion. “What?”

Akaashi shrugged. “I could go stay with Bo. I was planning on it, anyway. Give you the key to my place and you can take as much time as you need there. There’s, like, no food, but there’s a television and a ton of DVD’s that Bokuto left there. Cool your head, let him calm down, too. Then you both can discuss it with level heads.”

Suga was beating his ankles in the air, then opening them in a wide split to touch his toes to the floor before raising them up again. He did this for a several repetitions, considering Akaashi’s offer. “Only if you’re sure I won’t be putting you out. It might be good to be away from him for a bit… just until I can think straight.”

“You can stay for an hour or a day — or longer. As long as you need,” Akaashi said.

“I might stay here until you’re done with class…” Suga said, letting his legs sink back down to the floor. “Just… come get me before you go.”

“Alright.” Akaashi stood, looking down at him for a moment. “Congratulations, by the way. I think it’s amazing — whether you stay or go.”

Suga’s smile was fragile, and he wouldn’t meet Akaashi’s eye. “Thank you…”

There was nothing else Akaashi could think to say, so he left him laying there, closing the door softly behind him. When he returned to the main studio he found the dancers all in various states of stretching.

“Done with barre?” Akaashi asked Alisa as he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her further into her split.

She grimaced at the extra stretch for a moment until her face relaxed as she breathed in and out, purposefully relaxing. “Yup. All done. We didn’t get to the floor combination yet. Suga okay?”

“Mhm… he will be. He and Oikawa …” but he didn’t want to say, exactly, because it wasn’t his business. Suga might be a gossip but he wasn’t.

Alisa looked up at him, worry coating her features. She tucked her legs under her and stretched her back, gazing at him upside down. “That’s not good. I hope everything works out…”

“Me too,” Akaashi said, honestly.

After class, he had to usher them out when they lingered, wanting to talk to Suga. But Suga was still barricaded in the back studio, not wanting to see anyone, especially not eight curious gossipers. And when they were gone, Akaashi took his time changing and cleaning, but when he could find nothing else to take up his time he went back, knocking before entering, and found Suga practicing his turns.

When Suga saw him in the mirror he came to a graceful stop, stepping out of them and turning to look at him. “You leaving?”

Akaashi said, “I can wait if you —”

“No.” Suga moved to the speaker to yank his phone out, angrily it seemed, and grabbed up his bag. “I’m ready.”

They left in silence, Suga glaring at the ground or his phone with equal amounts of anger until they stopped at a crosswalk where Akaashi would need to head right and Suga to the left. Akaashi paused to pull his key from the ring and held it out to him. “Do you want me to come with you?” He thought that since Suga had spent a night with him in his time of need he could do the same, or at least offer.

But Suga shook his head. “No… I mean — it’s your house do whatever you want.”

Akaashi could tell that he just wanted to be alone, to think things through. “Like I said, you can stay as long as you want. Just text me. Let me know you’re okay.”

“I will,” Suga said, taking the proffered key. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Suga nodded to him then left, walking down the street until he turned a corner and was gone. Akaashi sighed, worry in the forefront of his mind, then made his way in the opposite direction towards Bokuto’s house.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7
> 
> (whoops I didn't mean to post this today...... oh well. >_> I wish the "Save Without Posting" and "Post without Preview" buttons were NOT right next to each other thx) (enjoy the early chapter everyone!)

_(Song Selection: Komorebi - God is an Astronaut)_

Sleeping was one of Akaashi’s favorite things to do.

Unfortunately he wasn’t getting much of it as of late, what with Bokuto keeping him awake at night and his _phone fucking ringing at six in the morning_.

He slapped his hand around on the bedside table until he found it, and didn’t even look at the caller ID before he laid it on his head and said, “Hello?” His voice was husky with sleep and he couldn’t even be bothered to open his eyes.

“Keiji, hey.” It was Suga. “Oh, god, I didn’t realize the time. Did I wake you up?”

Akaashi sat up, too quickly, dropping his phone and having to grab for it. He tried to make it sound like he’d been awake and coffee-ed for hours. “No, no. How are you?” Suga had spent last night at his house, but by the sound of his voice it seemed like he hadn't slept at all.

“Fine,” Suga murmured. “Uhm — do you want to get coffee or something?”

Akaashi didn’t, not really, he wanted to sleep. He checked the time and groaned internally. “Yeah, sure. But the good place doesn’t open for another hour. Why don’t you try to sleep a bit and we’ll meet at eight?”

Suga was silent for a moment. “Okay.”

“Did you sleep okay?” Akaashi asked, laying back down. Bokuto stirred enough to put an arm over his chest and nuzzle into his shoulder and not waking up in the slightest. Akaashi envied his ability to sleep.

“I’ll tell you later,” Suga said. “It’s sort of a story.”

“…Eight, o’clock, okay? Try to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Akaashi waited, unsure if he should say anything else, but before he could figure it out Suga had hung up. He sighed, setting his phone beside him as Bokuto tugged him close, sticking his face further underneath him. He patted Bokuto’s hair, settling down for another half hour of rest. He wouldn’t sleep, but he liked the idea of just laying and letting Bokuto hold him.

When he did finally have to get up, Bokuto wouldn’t let him go and he had to wake him with kisses before he managed pull himself away from his warmth. “I’ll be back later, ok?” he told a sleepy Bokuto, who was blinking up at him and Akaashi wasn’t even sure if he understood his words. “I’m going to go get coffee with Suga, but I’ll come home afterwards. The only classes I have today are the night classes so maybe I can make us some lunch or something if you’ll go to the store. I made a list, it’s in the kitchen.”

Bokuto was sitting up on his elbows, his hair was wild and messy and he had a little wrinkle in his cheek from laying on his stomach. “Mhm?”

Akaashi chuckled, leaning down to kiss his forehead and push him back to the pillows. “Go back to sleep. I’ll text you everything I said. I’ll see you in a little while.”

Bokuto mumbled, laying back down. They’d stayed up too late hanging out with Terushima and Yaku, who had come over after work to check on Kuroo. But Akaashi had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, while Bokuto had only come to bed maybe two hours ago. The only time Bokuto wasn’t a ball of energy was when he _had no energy_ from lack of sleep.

Everyone else was asleep, Terushima crashed out on their couch, Kuroo and Kenma in their room, and Yaku curled up on the big round papasan chair, so Akaashi snuck past, slipping outside heading towards town. He did text Bokuto all he had said, and hoped he checked it before he panicked about Akaashi having gone anywhere without telling him.

Walking to the coffee shop without coffee before hand was like his own personal trial, and the entire time he wanted to lay down on the sidewalk and take a nap. But he made it, and when he stepped inside the shop he saw that Suga was already there at their favorite table beside the window, with two coffees, one of which he slid to the other side of the table when he saw Akaashi.

“You’re amazing,” Akaashi told him as he sat, taking up the cup and sipping it. It was fresh, and still hot, and he sighed happily with it in his fingers.

Suga looked exhausted, his eyes were red and puffy, made even more prominent by the dark, dark circles under his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said with a little smile.

Akaashi sat for a moment letting the coffee revive him, then asked, “So, I take it you didn’t sleep?”

Suga shook his head. “No… but not for the reason you’re probably thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” he said gently. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Suga sighed, taking a drink of his own latte. He liked _flavors_ and sometimes Akaashi thought he mixed too much together and only drank the finished product to spite Akaashi when he told him it sounded disgusting. “Well, first, I cleaned your kitchen.”

“Oh my god.”

“Do your dishes sometimes.”

Akaashi sat properly chastised until Suga continued, “Then I spent a long time trying to sleep… but obviously didn’t. And around one or two in the morning Tooru texted me.”

Akaashi raised his eyebrows curiously. “What’d he say?”

Suga tapped his phone awake and turned it around to show him.

_where are you?! worried sick. hope you’re not dead! >:(_

Suga had texted back, twenty minutes later by the time stamp, _at a friends._

When he’d read that Suga took it back and sighed. “He showed up at your place like an hour later.”

Akaashi felt a little smile on his face, which he tried to hide with his cup. “He knows you well.”

“Yeah, knows I’ve got like four friends, including the two of you.”

“You’ve got more friends than that.”

“Not that I like enough to go to their house.”

Akaashi laughed. “Fair enough.”

“So,” Suga tapped his fingers on his cup, “he came over. I almost didn’t let him in, but I thought that’d be worse. It was horribly awkward at first. But I apologized for throwing that little statue at him. Turns out it’s arm broke off and he spent a long time fixing it.” He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “And he said sorry for yelling at me. It was… weird. We’ve never fought like that before. But… y’know, it’s not fun fighting with the person you love.”

“No… it’s not.”

“So we talked for a long time… and while we didn’t really come to a decision, we both kind of decided that we didn’t want to fight like that and we needed to _talk_ about it. But… neither of us wanted to do it just then. So we went home and watched a bunch of the Disney Pixar short films to make ourselves feel better.”

Akaashi chuckled, shaking his head. “So you’re not fighting, but you haven’t worked out what the future holds yet?”

“No… I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t even know if I’ll go.”

“Suga, come on. It’s an amazing opportunity. You’ve worked _so hard_. You deserve it. And if he loves you the way you say he does—and he does, I’ve seen it—he’ll come around. You know it as well as I do. Just give him time to wrap his head around it.”

Suga just stared into his drink, looking forlorn and upset.

“Koushi, come on,” Akaashi said, reaching over and touching his hand. “Don’t fret like that. It’ll all work out. Don’t let this ruin your dreams…”

Suga leaned on his hand, turning his other to hold Akaashi’s hand and squeeze gently. “But _he_ is also my dream. I don’t want to lose him.”

“And as long as the two of you continue to be honest with each other you’ll figure it out. Even if you take a break or not, whether he goes to New York with you or not. But you shouldn’t not go just because of him.”

The muscle in Suga’s jaw twitched, and he looked even more distressed as he stared out the window. “I know… it’s just hard. I don’t want to hurt him…”

“If you put it off until the last minute, it’ll be even worse.”

“… Yeah…”

Akaashi rubbed his hand, trying to be soothing, and was quiet while he looked like he was thinking hard or remembering their talk or just thinking of nothing. After a time he asked, “You hungry? They’ve got breakfast.”

“No.”

Akaashi stood. “I’ll get you a yogurt and fruit. You need to eat.” He wanted food, too, and patted his hand before he went to the counter.

 

* * *

 

Akaashi looked up from his laptop when he heard a little groan from the hallway. He raised his eyebrows at Kuroo, who was leaning one handed on the wall, glaring at the empty space between the wall and the island counter. He still had a hard time walking on his own without support, and his face said the task of traversing the distance was too daunting.

They eyed each other across the room, Kuroo scowling and Akaashi waiting. Finally Kuroo muttered, “Little help?”

Akaashi sighed, but he stood and went to him, letting Kuroo put his arm around him so they could hobble to the kitchen island and Kuroo could struggle onto one of the stools.

“Bokuto’s out getting groceries,” he said. “When he gets back I was going to make lunch.”

Kuroo nodded, leaning on the counter, head in his hand, in pain. It had been a little over a week since he’d been home, and he was slowly weaning himself off the pain medication. The wound was still so sensitive that even the smallest reduction in dosage was catastrophic on his pain receptors. “Good…”

Akaashi watched him for a moment. “Where’s Kenma?”

“Asleep. He was up all night playing a new game.” He paused, shaking his head. “Again.”

“He always does that with new games. He’ll normalize in a few days once the novelty wears off.”

Kuroo nodded, drumming his fingers on the countertop. Akaashi waited almost an appropriate amount of time before he went back to his laptop. Jun had asked him to make a flyer to put up around town for the new season. The studio needed more money, which meant more dancers of every age group, so he was trying to make it enticing.

“So…” Kuroo began, slowly. “I need you to do something for me.”

Akaashi leaned around his laptop screen. “What, a favor or something?”

“Or something.”

“You don’t even like me,” Akaashi pointed out, shaking his head.

Kuroo scowled and leaned on his hand, wincing and pressing a hand to his side over his wound. “I don’t _not_ like you,” he said.

“Only because I took care of Kenma while you were in the hospital.”

“Look,” Kuroo sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “We’ve had our problems, but I need you to compete with them. Take my place.”

Akaashi actually closed his laptop slowly, watching Kuroo and wary with where the conversation was going. “Sorry?”

He rolled his eyes. “You heard me. None of them want to talk about the fact that I _can’t_ do it. I want you to do it. I’ve seen you dance,” he paused, just a moment, “and you’re good. You’ve got a different viewpoint, so you’ve got intriguing ideas. I think it’d be good. For them.”

“I… but I’m not —”

“Don’t say that crap that you don’t like that stuff or you”—he did air quotes; Akaashi wanted to smack him—“ _can’t do it_. You can. Stop being a twat about it.”

Akaashi blinked, stunned. “Why? They don’t need me, they can do it on their own.”

“Maybe, yeah. But you know how they are, they need someone who can keep them in line. Someone who they’ll listen to. Someone who cares enough to do it. You’ve got all of those qualities.”

He stared at Kuroo, taking a moment to consider his words. “You seem to think I actually care enough.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed at him. “You do.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You care about their contest because you care about _Bokuto_.”

Akaashi was taken aback. "Of course I do, but —“

“And you owe him.”

Now Akaashi scowled at him. “Excuse me?”

“Because of the things you said to him,” he snapped. Then as if he was finally getting to the brunt of his argument: “Do you even _know_ how much you hurt him?” When Akaashi didn’t answer, too embarrassed, he continued, “He told me what you said, you _ass._ How could you?”

It was a rhetorical question but Akaashi answered it anyway, “First off, it’s none of your business; second, I apologized to him months ago.” He’d apologized _many times_ in fact, until Bokuto had told him that he didn’t care about it anymore. To this day Akaashi still felt bad, still didn’t know if Bokuto _really_ forgave him. It was all he could do some nights, laying awake and fretting, to not wake him up and ask him, just once more, if they’d moved past it.

“But do you realize exactly what your words did to him?” Kuroo spat, furious all over again, “‘cause I don’t think you do. You broke his heart. When he came home that night—”

Akaashi didn’t want to know. He hated himself enough just imagining how distraught Bokuto had been. Sometimes the image of Bokuto’s face as he was left behind still flashed through his mind. He pressed his hands to his eyes as it came again, wishing Kuroo would shut up.

But Kuroo slapped his palm on the table to get Akaashi to look at him again. His voice was venom, “— he went to his room and didn’t come out until I had to go in and drag him out two days later. Force him to take a shower. He didn’t want to do _anything._ He didn’t even want to eat. And when I finally got him to tell me what you said to him — and don’t you ever fucking tell him I told you this — he _cried._ You know the last time I saw him cry? Never. He _always_ finds something good in everything that’s ever happened to him. I’ve known him since we were _five_ and you’re the only thing that’s ever hurt him that way. So _fuck you_ for that. Fuck you for hurting my friend. If I knew where you lived I would have broken your _other_ foot, you bastard.”

Akaashi didn’t need this from him. He’d twisted himself in knots since that night, only sometimes able to forget it happened, but usually the memory stabbed painfully in his gut, making him sick enough that he felt like throwing up. He hated himself for saying it, would never properly forgive himself, and he sure as shit didn’t need Kuroo bringing it up whenever he needed a _favor_. “Are you done?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. “Did you get it all off your chest?”

Kuroo glared at him. “Don’t you mock me.”

“I’m not,” Akaashi sniffed. “But you should know… I’ve not forgiven myself either.”

Kuroo’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise.

“So,” he continued, slowly, trying to work out exactly what he wanted to say. “I’ll do it. But not for you. You don’t get to say those things to me, you especially don’t get to threaten me _again_. I’ll do it because I want to make it up to _him_. He’s the one that’s worth it, he’s the one that I need to forgive me. Not you. You can”—he didn’t know _what_ Kuroo could do, but his grade school insults came back to him in that moment—“You can go suck an egg for all I care.” And then, for good measure, because he remembered he was an adult and could swear at people he said, “Fuck off.”

Kuroo’s eyes were narrowed, but he looked amused. He opened his mouth, but at that moment the front door opened and Bokuto trundled in with his arms full of crinkly brown paper bags. He saw the two of them at the island and immediately misinterpreted, because, as Kuroo said, he saw the best in everything and everyone. “Hey! You guys are talking!”

They glanced at one another, then Akaashi sniffed in frustration, but didn’t want to upset Bokuto by telling him what they’d been talking about. “Did you get everything on the list?”

Bokuto dumped the bags on the counter, sending mandarins rolling across the counter so that all three of them scrambled to grab for them before they fell off and bruised on the floor. “Yeah,” he said happily, unpacking the bags and setting everything out. “You said you’d make lunch?”

Akaashi sighed, unsure of how exactly he became the cook of the household. Kuroo was the one that could work a grill like a magician. “Yes, sure.” He glanced at Kuroo as he said to Bokuto, “Look, we’ve had an idea. Since he can’t do the competition anymore—”

“You’ll do it!?” Bokuto whipped around, eyes wide and glee bursting out of his pores like sunshine. Akaashi’s face hurt a little seeing how big his smile was. He kind of wanted to put on sunglasses. Bokuto threw his arms around Akaashi so hard he had to clamber at the edge of the island so he didn’t fall off his stool. “I told Kuroo you wouldn’t, but you will? You really will?”

Over his shoulder, Akaashi narrowed his eyes at Kuroo. This has been a _plot_ between them, but he was sure that Kuroo had added the extra shit to try to guilt Akaashi into doing it. He was beginning to understand more and more why Kenma hated being alone with the two of them. They were criminal masterminds together.

“Yes,” he told Bokuto when he pulled away to look at him. “You all can even come to the studio to practice. We’ll do it after my classes.”

Bokuto’s look of unabashed giddiness helped Akaashi realize that he actually did want to help them. On the other side of the island Kuroo dug a nail into a mandarin to tear the skin away. “I’ll tell Kenma to show you some old videos, maybe you can get some inspiration from that.”

“But first lunch?” Bokuto asked, grinning at Akaashi.

Akaashi pushed his laptop out of the way to keep it safe. “But first lunch.”

 

* * *

 

In class that night Suga and Oikawa technically showed up together, but clearly they hadn’t talked much that day because they weren’t their usual (or even close to their usual) flirtatious, fun selves. Oikawa went straight to his piano and Suga pretended he didn’t exist the entire class.

When they were almost done, just before they did some floor combinations, Akaashi heard the front door open and voices floating in from the lobby. Several people turned to look, and when they saw the group that was in the lobby whispers went up in confusion and interest. The crew was early. Of course they were.

But Akaashi was talking, and he turned and snapped his fingers at them, loud, and said, “Class isn’t over — pay attention!” They did, guiltily, and he made the combination harder just so they had to focus.

He saw the crew in the lobby watching them, and when they kept gasping at impressive leaps and talking too loudly he stomped over and slammed the door in their face.

Only when class was actually over did he go over and open the door. “No shoes,” he told them, looking to Bokuto to make sure he enforced his rule.

“O-kay,” Bokuto said, holding up the hand sign for it too. With his other hand he held out a large iced coffee, black, ice tinkling against the sides and looking like ambrosia.

“Oh _thank God_ ,” Akaashi gasped, happily taking it. He hadn’t been able to nap at all today, and he was exhausted.

“Thought you’d like that.” Bokuto beamed at him.

Akaashi nodded, going back inside to supervise the dancers as they packed their things. In the mirror he saw Bokuto following him, and the others following along slowly behind him. Terushima whistled loudly, and it echoed off the high, sloping ceiling. Noya was sliding around the room on his socks like a weird ice skater.

“Thanks for letting us come,” Bokuto said, resting a hand on Akaashi’s hip and spreading his fingers wide.

“I figure it would be better, especially because we can use the mirrors. Don’t interrupt my class next time.”

Bokuto kissed his cheek, but he clearly didn’t feel too bad about it. “Promise.” He took a sip of Akaashi’s coffee from the straw and said, “I wanted them to see how cool you guys are, though.”

Akaashi laughed, glancing over as the two groups began to mingle. Oikawa was the only one that didn’t seem to care about the newcomers, studiously wiping down the piano. Saeko and Noya had gravitated towards Alisa, who was taking down her pinned up hair piece by piece. It was magical to watch, when it came down it wasn’t crinkled and messy, she somehow managed to make it so that it was wavy and luxurious, especially when all the pins were out and she flipped it over to fluff it up. Some days it was so lovely that even Akaashi wanted to run his fingers through it.

Clearly Saeko and Noya were mesmerized by her and her hair, which was just the way she liked it.

Tanaka was watching this from afar and muttered, “Ridiculous. My best friend and my sister flirting with the same girl.”

Terushima hooked an arm around his neck, grinning. “Looks like your sister’s the better candidate.”

“She _always_ is.”

And sure enough, Noya was being slowly pushed out of the conversation (not that he noticed) as Saeko said something to Alisa and she gave her hand, and Saeko flipped it over to trace the fine lines of her palm.

Alisa blushed with what was said, and Noya blinked between them, and side stepped away, looking forlorn. Everyone who saw it laughed and he took a moment to flip them the bird.

“Strike _out_!” Tanaka laughed, mocking applause.

“Shut up,” Noya snapped, punching his arm.

On the other side of the room, Akaashi saw that Suga was talking to Daichi. And Suga still looked rough, he’d clearly been crying today again, and his eyes were still raw from it. Daichi looked like he was trying to comfort him and Suga was smiling for the first time all night.

“Oh no,” Akaashi muttered, dragging Bokuto away from the others so he could properly smack his chest. “Look!”

Bokuto did look, grabbing Akaashi’s wrist to stop him. “What’s wrong?”

“Suga can’t talk to him. He’s too nice. He and Oikawa are arguing and that _won’t help_.”

“If they’re not doing good…” Bokuto began, grinning when Daichi put a hand on Suga’s arm and said something that looked sweet and kind to him.

Akaashi yanked his hand back, pushing Bokuto towards the pair. “Make sure they’re not flirting,” he hissed. “I mean it!” he added when Bokuto looked over his shoulder at him, grinning.

“Fine, fine,” Bokuto said, holding up his hands, and going to supervise.

It wasn’t that Akaashi didn’t want Suga to make friends, he just didn’t want him to make new _flirty_ friends while he was working through his relationship problems. And in order to distract Oikawa, who was so decidedly _not_ looking at Suga that it was obvious he was watching his every move, Akaashi went to him and said, “Hey, I want you to meet someone.”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow. “One of your friends?”

“Yes, but I think you’ll like him. Or at least what he can do.” He looked around, and frowned when he didn’t immediately see Kenma. Taking a moment to look around, he finally found him hovering by the door, watching everyone. Akaashi flapped a hand and Kenma saw him, his gaze flicking over to focus on him.

“Come on,” he said to Oikawa, walking over to the sound system where they met Kenma. He introduced the two of them as he pulled out a little folding table and chair he’d stored close-by.

Kenma was trying his best to avoid Oikawa’s curious gaze. “Thank you,” he said to Akaashi in his quiet, nervous voice. He was clearly not happy being in a new place with new people.

“Do you still have that piece you made me?”

Kenma nodded, sitting at the impromptu table and pulling out his laptop.

Akaashi pointed to Oikawa. “He’s the violinist.”

Kenma’s eyebrows went up. “Really? It was very good.”

“Wait, wait,” Oikawa said. “What are you talking about?”

“Just listen.” Akaashi took the headphones Kenma held out to them and pushed them into Oikawa’s hands. “He’s really good.”

Oikawa frowned in confusion, but Kenma pressed a button on his laptop and Oikawa’s face cleared as he heard his own violin composition coming in through the speakers, and Kenma’s beats overlaid. He listened for a bit, then slid one of the sides off his ear to say, “This _is_ really good.”

Akaashi grinned down at Kenma. “See? I told you.”

“You know, I can play other instruments,” Oikawa was saying, ticking them off on his fingers. “Piano, cello, harmonica, harp, guitar.” He glanced at Akaashi. “Wind instruments are not my thing. But, anyway”—he turned his attention back to Kenma—“I’ve got friends who can do others. Between all of us we’re basically an orchestra. If you did _this_ with just a pre-recorded piece, imagine what you could do with a live orchestra.” He was beaming, excited at the idea. “That’s the new _thing_ y’know? Orchestra and club music all mish-mashed together.”

But Kenma was pulling in on himself, hunching a little, pressing the pads of his fingers together nervously. “It’s just a hobby…”

“But you’re really good!” Oikawa gushed, crouching to be closer to him. “Do you like doing it? Do you want to get better?”

Kenma muttered something, but Oikawa interpreted it as an affirmative so he went on, “Look, if you really want to do more you should come by the school with me sometime. We’ve got a huge studio and nice recording equipment. We could do a collaboration — a real one.”

Kenma was flushed pink, this the only thing that proved he was excited by the idea. Oikawa grinned at him. “Let me think about it,” Kenma murmured.

Oikawa nodded, pleased. “I can give you my number, incase you want to come by. Do you have anything else I could listen to?”

Akaashi was pleased with this interaction, and left them to it as Kenma flipped to a different file. He went to Bokuto, who was talking to Suga and Daichi, but stopped himself when he saw Akaashi approaching. “We should get started soon,” Akaashi said. It would already be midnight or later when they would leave, and Akaashi had classes tomorrow morning with the little kids. He’d need his sleep.

“Sounds good,” Bokuto said, glancing around. “Seems like all your dancers left. Oh, wait.”

Of course Alisa was still here, leaning against the barre talking to Saeko. Akaashi took a sip of his coffee. “Who wants to break that up?”

The four of them watched as Saeko reached out and twirled a piece of Alisa’s hair around her finger — Alisa giggled.

“Good luck,” Bokuto said to Akaashi.

“Oh, come on.”

Suga laughed at his face. “You are the teacher.”

Akaashi huffed, but he went over to the girls, waited a polite amount of time to be noticed, was ignored, and then cleared his throat meaningfully—twice—until they looked at him. “We’re going to get started in a bit.”

Alisa laughed, her high, tinkling laugh that sounded like a fairy. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” She picked up her bag, winking at Saeko. “You call me, ok? We’ll work something out. Dinner, maybe?”

Saeko smiled back at her. “I can’t wait.”

Alisa gave Akaashi a very not subtle wink, then whisked out of the room, her hair and her legs looking like a goddess. Saeko said, “Damn,” like she’d just now realized how beautiful she was and that the two of them were mere mortals in her presence.

“Come on.” Akaashi smiled at her. “The sooner we start, the sooner we can finish and you can call her.”

And when Akaashi made it back to Bokuto and the others Suga asked, “Can we stick around? I think Oikawa and the little blonde guy are hitting it off.” Akaashi gave him a dubious look and he said, “Oh, please? I want to see who you’ve been spending all your time with. I’ll sit in the corner and be good.”

“… Alright, fine.”

Bokuto beamed. “Great!” He raised his voice, “Yo, Koz, throw some tunes on.”

Kenma looked up. “What do you want?”

“Anything with a beat.” He turned to smirk at Akaashi. “Gotta get this one up to par with us if he’s going to dance with us.”

Akaashi made a face, but it was true, he needed help to blend in with them. Suga laughed, giddy, and said, “Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

“Go sit in your corner,” Akaashi snapped at him just as the music began to play over the loudspeakers.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, Bokuto gets a bit out of hand (physically rough) in the second half in this chapter. It's not much, and I don't condone his actions, but it could potentially be triggering for some people so just tread lightly, please.
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Be Quiet - Monsta X - but you should pause it if it’s still playing when mentioned, to get the full effect)_

The crew worked for at least two hours trying to teach Akaashi how to move like they did. Terushima spent too long trying to teach him ‘locking’ (whatever the hell that was, Akaashi thought) but his body didn’t comprehend how to move _exactly_ only one part at a time, and certainly not in the way he tried to get Akaashi to do it. Terushima said it was like a robot or a mannequin, with someone only moving an arm or a leg or their chest, and everything else totally still.

“It’s too weird,” Akaashi told him.

Terushima smirked at him. “You mean you can’t do it.”

Akaashi flushed, and said he’d keep trying it. Noya tried to show him how to spin on his head — which did not work in the slightest. While he was trying for a headstand, Bokuto came up and wrapped his arms around his thighs, holding him up and grinning down at him.

“Pardon you,” Akaashi said, head feeling a bit dizzy with the blood in his head from being upside down. “I’m a bit busy.”

Bokuto shifted his hold so he could lift him up off the floor. “Your face is all red.”

Akaashi huffed, and turned his leg to shift it and hook one knee around the back of Bokuto’s neck. He used his considerable core strength to raise himself up, until their faces were right next to one another. “Koutarou, please let me down.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows raised. “Oh,” he crooned, “no hands. That’s _very_ impressive.”

Akaashi smiled at him, looping his arms around Bokuto’s neck. Several people around them whistled at his flexibility. “I’ll show you exactly how impressive it is _later_.”

Bokuto kissed him once before Akaashi unfolded himself backwards and let his legs drop to the floor. Noya crouched beside them, giggling.

“How about we go through the routine?” Bokuto suggested. “You know the first bit, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Akaashi said, nodding. He stretched his foot on the floor, clenching his jaw to hide the pain he felt. It hurt, but it wasn’t so bad. He’d have to ice it tonight, and possibly tomorrow morning.

When they worked through the first of the routine, it was easy, in a way. He knew the steps, and it was easy for him to practice them with half of the group while the other half watched. But when it was over, before they would break into sections, Bokuto waved a hand to re-start the music. “No,” he said, “that’s not right.”

Akaashi stood a moment frowning at him, taking deep breaths, hands on his hips. “What’s wrong?”

Bokuto rubbed a thoughtful hand over his chin. “You’re still too pretty.”

Everyone in the room rolled their eyes, including Akaashi. “Do it again,” Akaashi said loudly. “And shut up, Bokuto.”

They did it several times, in fact, each time someone telling Akaashi some trick or tip to help him blend in better. He felt awkward, but he knew he needed to be perfect for them. He wouldn’t be the reason it all went to shit, not if he could help it.

It was past midnight when they decided to try it once last time, with everyone, just to see what it looked like in the mirror. Akaashi could feel sweat dripping down his forehead, and the loud pounding music was really making his head hurt. Or maybe it was the low, constant fire in his foot that was growing hotter with each repetition. He ignored it — what sort of dancer was he if he gave in to pain?— but near the end of the routine, he stumbled, biting the inside of his cheek to not cry out in pain as his foot spasmed when he stepped wrong doing a difficult transition.

Bokuto saw him immediately, and grabbed his arm to help him stay upright. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Akaashi muttered, patting his hand and carefully extracting his arm. “Let’s continue.” The music was still loud, and he could hear where they could pick up on the next eight count.

But Bokuto was frowning at him, brows pinched down with worry. “You’re hurting. Let’s stop for now. We’ll pick up next time.”

“No, I told you, I’m fine.”

“And I told you we should stop for tonight.”

Akaashi looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t need _you_ to tell me how to dance.”

“I’m not,” Bokuto snapped. “I’m telling you how to take care of yourself, since you seem to have forgotten.”

Silence fell around the room as the music faded. Kenma must have noticed them stopping and turned it off. He and Oikawa had been in the corner all evening, chatting about music.

Akaashi clenched his fists. “Well, you can stop.” He turned away to tell Kenma to start the music again, when Bokuto grabbed his arm and whipped him back around, fingers tight, so that Akaashi glared at him and had to use all his strength to rip his arm out of his grip. “I don’t need to quit. We need to figure this all out — the competition is coming up and I need to—”

“Rest,” Bokuto said sternly. He folded his arms, frowning down at Akaashi. “You need to rest.”

“I _don’t want_ —” But he stopped himself, seeing the fire of authority flicker to life in Bokuto’s eyes, dangerously quick. His face was as unamused as Akaashi had ever seen it. All the humor gone, the only thing left a stern and powerful countenance. He was unequivocally _in charge_ in that moment. Akaashi had lost this battle before it had ever begun.

But Akaashi still glowered, readying himself to argue. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Terushima and Yaku, who were the closest to them, take several brusque, nervous steps backwards.

Bokuto raised his voice, still staring down Akaashi but talking to the group. “Go home. Meet back here same time in three days.”

Akaashi scoffed, but Bokuto didn’t budge, raising his chin and lowering his eyebrows in consternation.

“Go,” Bokuto said again.

In a fury, Akaashi slapped both his hands hard into Bokuto’s chest, shoving him back as hard as he could. Then he whipped around and stormed across the studio, out of the room, slamming the door so hard it shuddered in its frame. He stomped to the little locker room in the back and paced the room, telling his stupid foot to stop hurting, now was _not_ the time.

How _dare_ Bokuto presume to tell him how to dance? He had no clue what Akaashi was capable of, and he’d been through worse anyway. Bokuto didn’t _know his body_ the way he did. He didn’t know that Akaashi didn’t _care_ about pain — it didn’t matter to him, it was nothing, it was just something else to overcome in order to achieve his dreams.

On one turn, a bone actually popped in his foot and he cried out, unable to stop himself, and sank to one of the old benches with yellow stuffing poking out of tears in the cushion. He pulled his legs up, clutching at his ankle and spitting, “You bastard, go back to normal already!” at his foot.

The door opened, and Akaashi almost screamed at the person, but it was only Suga, coming in and kicking the door closed behind him. He brought Akaashi’s coffee to him, and from under his arm produced a cloth that crinkled, presumably filled with ice. “Thought you’d need this,” he said. Akaashi glowered, and Suga sat beside him. “Don’t be that way.”

“I’ll be however I want to be,” Akaashi snapped, then sipped his coffee. It was watered down, and disgusting, but he drank it anyway out of spite.

“He’s only trying to help you.” Suga pulled the coffee from his protesting fingers and gave him the ice pack.

Akaashi scowled, anger and frustration making him hot and prickly. The ice felt good on his foot, dammit. “He shouldn’t have done it like that.”

“Like what?” Suga asked with a little laugh. “Truthfully? How else should —”

“He shouldn’t have treated me like a _child_ in front of everyone.”

Suga was quiet for a moment, but when he looked over at Akaashi his eyes were round and reminded Akaashi of how long they’d been friends and how they’d promised each other they’d always be honest with each other. “Well… you did act like one with that little tantrum you threw.”

Akaashi narrowed his eyes at him, then laid his cheek on his knee. Suga put an arm around him, leaning on him.

“Don’t be mad,” Suga said. “He’s right… even if, I guess, he could have gone about telling you better. I can see how much you’re hurting.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. You get this little tilt to your right eyebrow when you’re trying to hide your pain.”

Akaashi scoffed, turning his face away from him. “I do not.”

“Yeah, you do. And you chew your cheek — that’s really easy to see. I bet Bokuto saw it too, but he was waiting for you to tell him that you needed a break. And when you never did…”

“… I can still be mad at him.”

“You can, but you shouldn’t.”

He felt bad, complaining about how much his boyfriend cared for him while Suga and Oikawa were fighting. But their fight didn’t make his feelings any less potent, and he was horrible at hiding them when he was so upset. It was either express them or press them down so deep inside them that when they finally did explode, it would be _just like_ when he’d yelled at Bokuto that night… and he wasn’t going to do that again. Or, at least, he was going to try.

“He was a jerk, though,” Akaashi muttered.

But Suga, his best friend, patted him on the head and stood. “No, he wasn’t. I think you were this time.”

Akaashi frowned up at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m supposed to keep you from being an asshole. So go apologize to him.” Suga made sure to keep his coffee for good measure, winking, and walked to the door, poking his head out to listen. “Everyone’s already gone. He’s cleaning. Just so you know.”

“Thanks…” Akaashi muttered, not meaning it, and hugging his legs close. Before Suga could walk out he asked, “Are you going to talk to Oikawa tonight, then?”

Suga glanced at him, sighing, chewing the straw in the way that Akaashi hated. “Maybe.”

“You have to do it.”

“I’d like to pretend it didn’t happen at all… the email, the offer, the fight… any of it.”

Akaashi shook his head, taking the ice off and standing carefully. It hurt more now that his adrenaline wasn’t up, and he flinched when he set it on the floor. He could still put pressure on it, but it would be hell tomorrow. “If you won’t let me pretend that I’m okay, I won’t let you pretend you can hide from this, either.”

Suga rolled his eyes, plucking out the straw and sucking on the end, making a face at the bitterness of black coffee. “Gee, thanks. We’re really fucked up, aren’t we?”

Akaashi limped over to him. “Maybe. But if nothing works out and our lives go up in flames, we can go to … I don’t know, Australia or something, right?”

Suga laughed. “I don’t know, I like the idea of Russia.”

“Russia!? It’s fucking cold there.”

“So what? We could wear those big fur coats.”

“Do you know how expensive those things are?”

Scoffing, Suga held the door open for him. “You step on all my dreams, you know that?”

 

* * *

 

 

_(Song Selection: A Moment of Stillness - God is an Astronaut)_

Back at the house, the four housemates (and Akaashi was over there enough that he considered himself one) sat around the couch eating a very late dinner. Akaashi was still mad at Bokuto, and their ride home had been awkward and silent with Kenma sitting silent and nervous in the back seat.

The television was on, but no one was watching it. Akaashi stared at it, but he was curled up trying to figure out the proper way to explain to Bokuto why he was still mad at him. Bokuto and Kuroo were talking loudly over the sounds of the tv, and it was a good thing Akaashi didn’t want to watch whatever series was on because the discussion was of season seventeen instead of season one, which was on.

But after the show was over, Bokuto raised an arm to put it over Akaashi’s shoulders, and Akaashi pulled away from him, scowling. “Don’t touch me.”

Bokuto stopped, pulling his arm back, giving him an equally upset scowl right back. “You’re still mad?”

Akaashi sniffed, laying his chin on his knees and watching the credits roll. Bokuto stood from the couch and stared down at him. When Akaashi refused to look up at him he said, “Keiji, come on, we need to have a talk.”

Both Kuroo and Kenma glanced over, then at each other, then studiously ignored Bokuto and Akaashi. While they both looked at screens, Kenma his laptop and Kuroo the television, their eyes weren’t moving so they were still listening.

Akaashi glanced up at him, considering for a moment, then stood, picking imaginary dust off his sleeve. “I might just go back to my apartment tonight, Bo.”

Bokuto’s head cocked, and his eyes hardened with anger, the rest of his face not moving a muscle. “Fine. But first, we talk.” He took a hold of Akaashi’s wrist, meaning to pull him towards his bedroom, but Akaashi yanked his hand away, about to tell Bokuto how he didn't _want_ to talk to him.

Instead, Bokuto’s nostrils flared in fury and he moved faster than Akaashi would have thought, wrapping one arm around his legs and throwing him over his shoulder like a damn sack of flower.

He tried to protest, but Bokuto’s shoulder dug into his stomach, knocking his breath out, so all he could do was smack his back with meager fists—which didn't do a damn thing.

Kuroo looked up, catching Akaashi’s eye as he was removed forcibly from the living room, amusement in his eyes.

In the bedroom, just as Akaashi managed to get the breath to say, “You put me _down_ right —” Bokuto dropped him on the bed, making Akaashi gasp with the sudden swift movement.

Bokuto leaned over him, glaring. “Okay. What the fuck is your problem?”

“You are, you barbarian! You can't throw me around like —” He was sitting up, but Bokuto put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. Akaashi struggled, and he was stronger than he looked—most ballet dancers were—but Bokuto was stronger than him, and held him fast, kneeling over him, one hand on his chest and the other grabbing his ankle when he kicked at his head.

“When you're acting like a bratty child I'm going to treat you like one. _Stop it!_ ” He shouted, not bothering to keep his voice down, as Akaashi tried to hit him. He gripped a fistful of Akaashi’s shirt and shook him when Akaashi didn't stop, so his teeth clattered in his head and he was dizzy for a moment.

Akaashi screamed back at him, “You're not my dad! You don't get to act like you are! I can take care of myself!”

“Actually you _can’t_ , obviously,” Bokuto snapped, voice harsh. “I tried to let you set your own limits, to tell me when you were hurting and needed to stop — even if you just wanted a ten minute rest— but you never did! You pushed yourself like you were some kind of —”

“You don't know me as well as you think you do,” Akaashi snarled at him, glaring, putting all his anger behind it.

Bokuto paused, his big golden eyes searching his face. Then those eyes narrowed and, while Akaashi knew that Bokuto would never hurt him, knew it all the way down to his very _bones_ , he still felt a trickle of nervous fear pool in beside his anger, making his whole body tingle with a chill. Bokuto reached down and grabbed Akaashi’s ankle, pulling his foot up with such a strong grip that Akaashi couldn't break free of even when he tried.

“You think I don't know you, or your body?” Bokuto asked, his voice dropping to a low, fierce tone that was even more scary than when he yelled. The fingers of his other hand curled around the recently healed long-bones of his foot, and it wasn't hard, just a touch, but Akaashi cried out in pain all the same.

He arched off the bed, trying to pull away and failing, twisting his fingers into the sheets.

Bokuto leaned over him, waiting until Akaashi opened his eyes to look at him before he spoke. “I know you better than you do. I know every inch of your body and I know your limits better than you do. Because I know you _have them_.” He let Akaashi’s foot go, and Akaashi jerked it away, but he wasn't free of Bokuto’s touch for long, because he pressed a hand to his knee and shoved it to the mattress, his fingers sliding up the underside of his thigh until Akaashi twitched, gasping out.

“I know the things you like.” His fingers dig into the spot again, and Akaashi couldn't help the small flutter of desire that pricked at his belly.

“Fuck off,” he said, batting at Bokuto’s hands with his own and finding that it did nothing.

Bokuto’s hand flashed up and gripped his chin, forcing him to look at him. “I know what you don't like,” he said, then grunted in pain when Akaashi managed to knee him in the side, so he straddled his legs to stop him, and loomed over him, caging his head with his arms.

“I know your side still pains you from a displaced rib you won't go to the doctor to get fixed. I know you can't eat spicy foods without stomach cramps. I know you still dream of your very first performance. I know you don't know how to stop, or when, because you think that if you just _work hard_ you’ll achieve your dreams.” He leaned down so their faces were so close the warmth of his breath touched Akaashi’s cheek. “But that's not how you follow your dreams. That's how you destroy them. You're going to hurt yourself beyond repair someday, and I won't be the one who lets you do that. I've already hurt you once, and I’ll be damned if you get hurt on my watch again. So, yes, I _will_ treat you like a child because you don't know what's best for you any more than they know that Santa Claus isn't real.”

Akaashi was glaring at him, pinned by the intensity of his gaze and unable to speak because he couldn't deny his words. Well, he could, but he had absolutely no evidence to back it up. His lip trembled, and his face felt tight. A single tear found its way down his temple and into his hair. But he had nothing to say.

Because Bokuto was right.

He was right, and Akaashi hated it. He was right, and he knew it, Akaashi knew it, they both glared at each other as the truth sank in. Finally Akaashi tore his gaze away, throwing his head to the side in an attempt to hide more tears. He hated that when he was angry he cried, it always made his real fights leave him feeling like a fool, no matter if he won them or not.

After a long moment, Bokuto moved away and slid off the bed. “Stay,” he commanded, pointing a finger at him. “Don't move.”

Akaashi didn't look at him, but curled up into a ball, tucking his injured foot underneath him and his hands against his chest. He heard Bokuto leave the room, but the thought of getting up and walking out didn't even occur to him. He heard Bokuto and Kuroo talking, but it was just the rumble of their voices, the kitchen was too far away to hear actual words. He wiped the tears from his cheeks until they stopped. He knew he shouldn’t have acted the way he had. He knew that he was a horrible judge of his own capabilities, especially when it came to injuries. When he had been a teenager he’d torn a muscle in his leg, but told no one, resorting to sports bandages, ice, and heat to make it better so he didn’t have to go to the doctor and be told to skip class.

It was the same place that was so sensitive now, to every sort of touch, just where his thigh met his body, where the ghost of Bokuto’s fingers still lingered. He closed his eyes, rubbing it with one hand, aching and oversensitive.

And then Bokuto was back, standing over Akaashi with a glass of water. “Here,” he said, more gently than before, “get up. Take these. Your foot’s swollen.”

Akaashi did sit up, leaned against the wall, and saw three tiny pills in his hand. For half a heartbeat he thought they were Kuroo’s… but then recognized the generic label stamped into them and realized they were just over the counter pain meds. He took them, chewing one to a fine powder before he swallowed it and the other two so that hopefully they kicked in faster. Bokuto sat on the edge of the bed, leaning on his knees with his head in his hands, running them through his hair in frustration.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto said at last, voice rough, not looking at him.

Akaashi took another sip of the water, watching him and wondering if he, too, was crying. “That hurt.”

Bokuto sighed, letting out a deep, jarring breath. “I know.” He sat up, and he didn’t have tears in his eyes, but he did look distraught. “I know,” he said again. “And I shouldn’t have… done it that way. But I _needed_ you to listen to me. You can’t tell me you’d have been still if I had simply sat you down and talked at you.”

Akaashi gripped the glass hard. “I don’t know… maybe. We’ll never know, I guess.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, turning to look imploringly at Akaashi. “You just make me so mad.”

Akaashi didn’t say anything, just stared at him. He knew he was in the wrong, so he wasn’t sure why Bokuto was apologizing first, but wanted to know where he was going with this line of thought.

It didn’t take long for him to continue, “You make me so _mad_ because I’m scared for you. Do you get that? I saw how broken you were when I hurt you last time… and I can’t watch you destroy yourself like that again. I won’t let you. I won’t let you lose your dreams because of an idiotic notion that you can just push through the pain that your body is telling you when you need to _rest_.” His voice was thick and desperate, begging Akaashi to believe him. “If I have to be the bad guy to you so that you don’t kill your body, then I will, even if you hate me for it. You _need_ someone to tell you when enough is enough.”

Akaashi did believe him. It was true. No one had ever told him, at least no one that he’d listened to, when he needed to stop. Most people believed he simply had a high pain tolerance — and while that was true, he also ignored his pain when it told him that it was time to quit. It was more than just his dancer’s brain telling his body to shut up when he was training his body to stretch beyond its limits, it was him telling his body to learn to deal with broken bones and torn muscles, telling it it better learn to heal faster because he wasn’t going to give it time to wallow in brokenness.

Finally, because Bokuto was still staring at him, waiting for an answer, Akaashi managed to say, “You’re right…” He didn’t pull away when Bokuto laid a gentle hand on his thigh. “And I … I’m sorry for being this way.” He looked down, watching Bokuto’s thumb stroke his knee. “I’ve always been this way… just one more repetition, one more try, if I think about it like that, small increments, I can always force my body to cooperate. _Once more and I let you rest.”_

“But you never do…”

“But I never do.” He sighed, taking another sip of the water to rinse out his mouth, powder still crunched under his teeth. “I just… I want this _so bad_ … and I’m running out of time. If I stop… what if I can never get going again?”

“You will,” Bokuto said, “because you’re the most wonderful —”

“Stop.”

“—dancer I know. You can achieve everything you want,” his hand tightened on Akaashi’s knee, and his voice was full of love and a pain so deep Akaashi didn’t quite know where it came from. “You can travel the world. You can be a star. You can do all these things because you’re so talented it’s _stupid.”_

Akaashi laughed, surprising himself. He laid a hand over Bokuto’s, and he turned their hands so they could twine their fingers together. “But I am sorry,” he whispered, ashamed. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you at the studio. I shouldn’t have yelled at you here… I know, I really do, I know that you … want to take care of me. And I want to do the same for you. I love you.” He almost said _more than dance_ and had to take a long pause to figure out if the words were true. He never figured it out, because Bokuto pulled his hand up to kiss his wrist.

“I love you, too. And I promise I’ll never hurt you again. Not this way and not … not dancing, either.” He touched Akaashi’s hand to his cheek.

“I know… you feel bad for what happened.” He looked up, meeting Bokuto’s eyes, seeing the echo of pain from that night. “But I feel guilty too. And we shouldn’t, neither of us. It wasn’t either of our faults. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a _thing_ and it happened, and it was an accident.”

Bokuto looked away, rubbing his cheek over Akaashi’s hand. “I still wish…”

“Me too,” Akaashi admitted. “I wish a lot of things. But we can’t change what happened. We can only apologize so many times… and we both know that neither of us blames the other.” He turned his and to cup Bokuto’s cheek in his palm. “So I’ll try to do better… and I’ll listen to you when you tell me to rest. And you have to believe me when I say that I don’t blame you for that night.”

“Even though I was the one —”

“It doesn’t matter,” Akaashi told him. “If it didn’t happen that way it would probably have happened another. So, please, let’s just… stop letting this come between us. I promise I’ll try to control my temper…”

“You shouldn’t promise me that,” Bokuto said. “You should tell me you’ll take better care of yourself.”

Akaashi made a face. “I thought you were going to do that.”

Bokuto laughed a little breathless laugh. He pulled Akaashi’s hand down, taking it in both of his and rubbing it gently in firm little circles on his palm. “You’re killing me.” When Akaashi let out a pleasurable sound, Bokuto moved his thumbs upwards, massaging his wrist in the way that he liked. “You need to go to the doctor. Get your foot looked at, get that rib put back.”

Akaashi hummed, a little lost in the way Bokuto’s fingers felt. “Mhm-hmm.”

“Are you still wanting to go back to your apartment?” Bokuto asked, raising one eyebrow and looking up at him, his fingers never stopping their massage.

Akaashi shook his head. “No. It’s cold without you.”

“Come on, then,” he said, taking the glass from Akaashi’s hand and setting it on the table. “Take your shirt off, let me rub your back. I know it’s hurting you.”

“It’s always hurting me,” Akaashi told him, peeling off his shirt and dropping it off the side of the bed. He lay down, spreading himself out on the sheets. He’d been here so long that the initial burst of _Bokuto_ on the sheets had faded, and he had to rub his face more diligently in the pillows to chase it. He knew it was because his scent lingered too, but he’d read somewhere that your brain doesn’t know what you yourself smell like, so he only knew that Bokuto’s scent was fading. It was a good thing he had the real thing right here, then.

Bokuto sat behind him, his hands strong and firm as he pushed the heels of his palms up the sides of Akaashi’s spine. One of his vertebrae popped and Akaashi moaned a little, his toes curling.

“God,” Bokuto said, a little appalled. “Go to a chiropractor, would you?”

“Sure.” Akaashi promised. “But don’t stop, please.”

He pressed a kiss to Akaashi’s shoulder, lingering and sweet. “You forgive me for tonight, then?” his voice was gentle, and scared, so unlike how he was at the beginning of the night.

Akaashi sat up on his elbows, turning his head as far as he could to look at him. “I’ve forgiven you for everything, and anything, past or future. Like you said a long time ago… anything you could do has already been forgiven.”

Bokuto leaned down to kiss him, one hand on his head to hold him there. Akaashi didn’t need to be held still, though, and he twisted his body to get a better angle, reaching one arm up and tangling a hand deep in Bokuto’s hair. Akaashi didn’t like his hair being pulled, but Bokuto _did_ like it and he showed it in the way his rumbled deep in his chest and sighed into Akaashi’s mouth. Bokuto shifted when Akaashi pushed against him, so he could turn and lay on his back, wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s shoulders and pulling him down, pushing one knee up between his legs.

Bokuto groaned, sliding a hand down Akaashi’s chest, careful to avoid the place he knew Akaashi would hurt in his side. He touched his fingers to the bone of Akaashi’s hip, squeezing gently. “I wanted to make you feel better.”

“You’re about to,” Akaashi said, tugging at his lip with his teeth so Bokuto pressed his hips down against him.

“I meant —” He growled again when Akaashi tugged hard on his hair, pulling his face to the side so he could nip at the place where his pulse pounded against his skin. “I meant with a massage…” but he didn’t sound like he was going to be stopping their current activity anytime soon.

Akaashi kissed and nibbled his way to Bokuto’s ear, making him shudder over him. “And you can, after. We can take a shower and you can rub me down and put me to bed and I’ll be oh so grateful to you. But, Koutarou,” he pulled his face away enough to look in his eyes, liking the way they were alive with arousal instead of anger. Bokuto’s eyes were mesmerizing, no matter what emotion filled them, but when he looked at Akaashi like he wanted to devour him it was probably up there in the top three favorite _Bokuto eyes_ , in Akaashi’s opinion. “Do you remember when I said I’d show you how impressive I could be _later_?”

“Yeah…” Bokuto nodded, leaning forward to kiss the side of his mouth.

Akaashi turned his face, catching him and parting his lips with his own, pulling Bokuto’s head down so he could explore the taste of his mouth. When they parted, both panting, he managed to say, “It’s later.”

Bokuto groaned, his breath hot on Akaashi’s neck, his hips rocking against him. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

Akaashi raked his nails down Bokuto’s shoulders, hard enough that he moaned and rolled his shoulders into Akaashi’s hands. Bokuto was big, and strong, and he liked when Akaashi marked him, teeth or nails, it always made him lose his mind a little. “Then we’ll start slow,” Akaashi whispered against his ear, “and when we’re nice and warmed up you can have your way with me. You said you knew my body better than I did. Prove it.” He punctuated his words by tugging on his earlobe with his teeth, making him lower his body to cover Akaashi’s, his arms pushing up under him to gather him close.

“Fuck,” he murmured into Akaashi’s skin, hugging him tight, his fingers exploring the skin they could find.

“Yes, please,” Akaashi said, smiling, and was rewarded with a rumble of a laugh. He closed his eyes as Bokuto kissed his shoulder, and arched up into him, letting his head fall back so Bokuto could nuzzle his way under his jaw, kissing him there, too.

They made love wrapped around each other, Bokuto’s mouth and fingers finding all the soft places of Akaashi’s skin that made him squirm and sigh with pleasure. And whenever Akaashi was cresting close to his climax, Bokuto would stop moving, and kiss him until he was shaking with need, and their voices whispered together, _I love you, I love you, I love you_. Finally, when Akaashi was sure he was going to explode, his chest too full and his body shaking, they found their pleasure together, mouths pressed together but not really kissing, both of them lost in one another.

As they lay together afterwards, Bokuto with his head on Akaashi’s chest listening to his heart slowly fall back to a steady rhythm and Akaashi’s hand stroking through his hair, Bokuto whispered, “Please… don’t go. I can’t stand it if you go.” He sounded so sad, but when Akaashi lifted his head to try to see his face, Bokuto turned to press his nose to Akaashi’s skin, kissing just over his heart.

“Okay,” Akaashi said, confused, but wanting to appease him. “I already told you I didn’t want to go back to my apartment…”

Bokuto nodded, but wouldn’t look up at him. His fingers traced invisible patterns on Akaashi’s side, following the path of his muscles and his ribs. “I love you so much,” he said, sounding like a promise and … like a goodbye.

Akaashi frowned, worried now. He pulled gently at Bokuto’s hair until he looked up at him. There was something there, something he was thinking of, that Akaashi couldn’t find. “Kou?”

Bokuto moved upwards, wrapping his arms around Akaashi’s shoulders and holding him against his chest. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Akaashi said, then again, “I’m very happy. It’s because of you, you know that.” He spread his hands on Bokuto’s chest, his heart still erratic under his fingers.

Bokuto nodded, pressing a kiss to his head. “We should go shower.”

“Probably.”

But neither of them made a move to disentangle themselves. Bokuto’s arms tightened around him and Akaashi pushed himself closer, kissing any skin he could reach to try and reassure him. “I could just… stay.”

Bokuto looked down at him, eyes wide. “What?” he sounded horrified.

“I…” Akaashi pushed himself away, thinking he’d stepped over a line. “I just… I don’t know, my lease is up soon and… I’m always over here anyway… I’m sorry…”

“Oh!” Bokuto gasped, letting him go and rolling onto his back. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Oh, yeah.” He seemed to realize that he didn’t sound enthusiastic, and that it hurt Akaashi’s feelings, so he sat up and cupped a hand on the back of his head to kiss him. “That sounds great,” he said, smiling.

“I don’t have to,” Akaashi said again, frowning at him. “It was just a thought.”

“It was a good one. Really, I want you to. Do you like the dresser drawers or do you want some space in the closet? Or both, we can do both.”

Akaashi didn’t immediately say anything, trying to figure out why Bokuto didn’t look as happy as he would have thought he would. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

Bokuto pulled away, swinging his legs out of bed and turning away from him. “Nothing, really. I don’t know — I wasn’t thinking anything.” He stood, stretching his back. “Come on, it’s really late, we need to shower so you can go to bed.”

Akaashi glanced at the clock — it was disastrously early in the morning. He groaned miserably, and knew he’d hate himself during the little kids’ classes, but slid out of bed and followed Bokuto to the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (edit, cause I forgot, like a dummy)  
> If you or anyone you know needs assistance or is in an abusive relationship please reach out to the Nat Abuse Hotline: 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Titanium/Pavane - The Piano Guys)_

The ballet studio had high lofted ceilings, more mirrors than were necessary in any room other than a dancing studio, soft-colored cream walls, and a floating floor.

Not literally floating, as Akaashi had to explain to some small children, but all the boards of the hardwood were connected and had foam underneath to absorb shock from jumps big and small. It was supposed to be good for the ankles.

Akaashi had always loved the open floor of a studio, no matter what, in every one he’d ever been in. He felt like he could really breathe in them, even when he was out of breath from dancing too much or too hard. He could and would spend his life in a dance studio without ever complaining.

Currently he was in the studio he’d spent two and a half years of his life in, sitting with his best friend, pretending like stretching his legs out felt better than curling up in the corner and taking a nap.

“We talked,” Suga said, seemingly out of nowhere.

Akaashi looked up from laying curled over his knees. “Oh? How’d that go?” He glanced towards the empty piano where Oikawa usually sat, but he was gone, as he had been the last few classes.

Suga let out a deep-seated sigh, as if it’d been stuck in his chest for too long. “I’m going to go to New York… and he’s going to stay here to finish school. Two years for me. One for him. He’s going to come visit. We’ll see what happens after that.” He said it the way one would declare the weather for an overcast, muggy day. A little disappointment but, having delivered the weather for every other day, knew this day was coming.

Akaashi watched him, how he kept his face as still as he could, and how much it hurt him, how his eyes softened with pain. “In the long run… it won’t be that long.”

“In the long run,” Suga echoed, hollow. He leaned back, rolling his ankles in his black ballet flats.

He wanted to ask more: _are you going to try a long-distance thing? breaking up? what’s the plan? can I help?_ or any number of questions that would be painful, but that he needed to know in order to be a supportive friend, but at that moment the door opened and Bokuto stuck his head in. Suga and Akaashi exchanged confused glances before Akaashi stood up and went over to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, more curious than anything else. The rest of the crew wasn’t coming tonight, and even if they were he was here two hours early during the actual _ballet_ class.

Bokuto shifted uncomfortably, stepping into the room. He wore a tight black tank top and gym-shorts, and clutched the black ballet shoes Akaashi had bought him as a joke. “Hey, so…” he looked nervous. Akaashi had learned that it wasn’t necessarily nerves that made him this way, but the idea that he’d be rejected or denied whatever he was about to ask for.

Akaashi looked him over, curious, but a smile pulling at his lips. “What’s up?”

“Can I take another class with you?” He looked up at Akaashi from under his eyebrows.

Akaashi blinked and laughed, then he realized Bokuto was serious. “What? Why?” He tried not to laugh again but he really was amused.

Bokuto twisted the shoes in his hands. He was barefoot, his tennis shoes lined up beside the wall just outside the room. “I just. Y’know, as another apology for … for last night.”

Akaashi blinked, and rubbed a hand across his arm, the memory of Bokuto furious with him still stung. But, he thought that the memory of himself erroneously furious with Bokuto all those months ago stung as well. They were both at fault, in a way. Akaashi knew he shouldn’t have hit Bokuto, or screamed at him, but Bokuto shouldn’t have thrown him around, _especially_ not the way he did it. Akaashi had told him he wouldn’t put up with Bokuto throwing him around like that and Bokuto had apologized over and over again. “I told you I’m not mad or anything…” He was still a _little_ mad.

Bokuto was nodding. “I know, I know. But just—y’know— just _cause_. I want to make it up to you and you seemed to enjoy torturing me last time.”

“Well… I can’t deny I did take some pleasure from watching you attempt to be graceful.”

Bokuto cracked a smile, and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So…?”

Glancing in the mirror, Akaashi saw the other dancers watching them curiously. “You can stay,” he said after a moment’s thought, “but I won’t slow down for you. You have to keep up. They pay for these classes, and I can’t waste their time or their money.”

Bokuto smiled, puffing up with pleasure. “Really?” He scooped Akaashi up in a big hug and Akaashi laughed as he was spun around.

“Okay, okay,” Akaashi said, giggling. “Put me down, you big goof.”

Suga had wandered over, hands behind his back, smiling at them. “Did I hear correctly?”

Bokuto grinned back, setting Akaashi on his feet but not letting him go. Akaashi said, “He’s going to do his best to not interrupt our class, isn’t he?”

Bokuto beamed, stepping away, and leaning on the wall so he could slip the black shoes on (with a little difficulty because of the crisscrossing straps). “Promise! I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

“First,” Akaashi said, with a smirk on his face that made Suga snicker diabolically, “we’ll start with some stretches.”

Bokuto took to the class with the enthusiasm with which he took to everything, which is to say, like a full-force tornado. He faked his way through the beginning of class stretches, introducing himself to the dancers he hadn’t met and reacquainting himself with Suga and Yahaba, whom he had met. Akaashi put him next to Suga at the barre, and told Suga he was allowed to ‘kick Bo into shape’ if he was too far behind, which Suga took literally and would nudge Bokuto in the ass with his toes until he managed to catch up. He still couldn’t actually do any of the combinations _properly_ but he tried, and he was an amusing anecdote for the other dancers to giggle over and try to help by shouting tips from across the room. _Point your toe; turn your leg out; no don’t bend that way you’ll hurt yourself, be thankful Akaashi doesn’t have his ruler today._

Akaashi wished Oikawa had been there to play their barre music a half step slower for Bokuto’s sake… and because it would mean that Suga and Oikawa had worked it out. But he wasn’t, and Akaashi had to make do with the pre-recorded music on his phone.

After barre (Bokuto had barely survived, it seemed; he was covered in sweat and leaned heavily on the barre, panting through the _grande battements_ instead of actually doing them) Akaashi pointed to the barre and said, “Put your foot up here.”

Bokuto gave him a withering look. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s easy.” Akaashi demonstrated, swinging his ankle up on the barre. He waved a hand around at the others, some of whom were doing it as well, while others were stretching on the floor. “See? You can do it.”

Bokuto shook his head. “It’s, like, chest height.”

“It’s barely waist height. It’s—” he had to take a moment to remember exactly how tall it was—“it’s barely a hundred and seven centimeters. You can _jump_ higher than this.”

“Only if I _really_ try.”

Akaashi laughed, lowering his leg and making a motion for Bokuto to give him his foot. “Come on, just try.”

Bokuto made a face and slumped a bit, but dutifully raised his foot with a grunt and allowed Akaashi to manhandle it onto the barre. “ _Ow_.”

“Big baby,” Akaashi said with a laugh. “Straighten your other leg and,” he flicked Bokuto’s ass with his hand, “stand up straight. You’re not the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

“It hurts!”

“Just pretend it doesn’t,” Akaashi told him, grinning. He _really_ was amused.

Bokuto was gripping the barre so hard Akaashi thought he might just rip it out of the wall. “Bullshit.”

“No, really, that’s how it works.” He giggled, and touched Bokuto’s shoulder. “Now, try to put your nose to your knee.”

Bokuto jerked, hopping as he pulled his foot off the barre. He stumbled away as he snapped to Akaashi, “Oh—fuck—off!” He hobbled from the room, holding a hand on the inside of his thigh as he went to go get a bottle of water from the office.

Akaashi laughed again, and dropped to the floor in a split as Yahaba looked over and said, “You look like you’re having fun.”

“You’ve no idea how much I’m enjoying this.”

Suga said, “Oh, I think we all know _exactly_ how much you’re enjoying this.”

And after they did center combinations, ( _pirouette_ combinations this time, that Bokuto could do out of sheer force of will), and Akaashi made up a fun and complicated combination that the dancers could do across the floor (that he helped Bokuto stumble through, but once he understood he did well, considering he’d never done _cabriole_ leaps) and the class only had the cool-down portion left, Akaashi told Bokuto, “Kuroo can’t save you this time.”

Bokuto, hands on his knees as he leaned over and tried to suck down oxygen, wheezed out, “What?”

Akaashi put his hands on Bokuto’s back and nudged him forward, away from the barre and to a clear space in the center of the room. “If you don’t stretch after class your muscles can tense up and—”

“Oh, no,” Bokuto said, stepping away, then groaning as Akaashi grabbed his wrist and held him there. “No, please.”

From her place on the floor Alisa looked up and said, “It’s very satisfying.” She was currently in a full middle split, wiggling her toes, and leaning on her elbows texting (probably her recently acquired girlfriend).

Bokuto pointed at her. “Don’t even start with me. If I did that my balls would—”

“Hey,” Akaashi popped Bokuto on the chest. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“Yeah,” Alisa stuck a finger in her mouth and bit her knuckle, eying them like a vixen. “I’m a _lady_.”

They both rolled their eyes, and Akaashi put both hands on Bokuto’s shoulders and pushed him to the floor. “Okay, here we go!”

Suga pranced over and slid to his knees beside them. He looked like a puppy, and was smirking at Bokuto like a new chew toy. “Let me help!”

“Don’t hurt him,” Akaashi warned.

“Me? Never.”

Bokuto slumped, holding both his ankles nervously. “You two are awful.”

“Nonsense.” Akaashi flapped a hand. “Okay, so, for you, just start simple. You’re actually sitting in a good position for a butterfly stretch.” He stood, going to stand behind Bokuto and spread his fingers over his broad shoulders. “If you do it right it helps stretch your lower back, inner thighs, hips, and groin.”

Suga leaned forward and actually _touched_ Bokuto’s inner thighs, right on the muscle where he was tense. “Riiiiight here.”

Akaashi leaned down and smacked him. “Don’t touch.” He lowered his head so he was looking at Bokuto upside down. “So, put your elbows on your knees and push down, keep your hands on your feet, and very gently pull your ankles towards your body.”

Bokuto’s face was strained. “Hurts.”

“Pretend it doesn’t.” Akaashi patted his head. “Now straighten your back and bend over, keeping your back straight as you pull your chest towards your feet.”

“I can’t do that.”

Suga giggled. Akaashi flapped a hand at him. “Show him, Suga.”

He did, and Bokuto’s face twisted into a grimace. “I don’t think I can—”

“Just try it,” Akaashi said, pushing on his shoulders. Bokuto let out a huffing, distressed breath, and did the stretch with lots of grunts of pained noises on his part, made even louder when Akaashi pushed him several inches further before he let him up. “There, easy. Okay, now we gotta stretch your calves.”

Bokuto moaned, “No more.”

“Just a little more,” Akaashi promised. He and Suga (and each of the other dancers, through lots of amused snorts and laughs) walked and talked and demonstrated how to do a multitude of simple stretches. Bokuto groaned and whined and moaned throughout the process. Then Akaashi, Suga, Yahaba, and Alisa all jostled and pushed and pulled Bokuto into attempting to do the splits just because they thought it would be funny to see him try it.

He’d let out a shout of pain and fell over, curling up into a little ball while clutching between his legs with both hands.

Akaashi collapsed beside him, breathless with a fit of giggles. “You—ha!—are you—okay?”

Bokuto rolled onto his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor, still clutching himself. “You people are heartless. I hate you, go away.”

Alisa leaned down to pat his back, then pulled her hand away, making a face. “Ew, you’re so sweaty.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto mumbled into the floor, “if I hadn’t seen you naked I’d think you didn’t have any balls left after what you put me through.”

Akaashi fell over clutching his stomach, laughing so hard tears fell from his eyes, absolutely undone.

“ _Hoooly shit_ ,” came a girl’s voice from the doorway.

Bokuto groaned, “Goddammit,” just as Alisa shrieked with joy and ran to the girl in the doorway, hugging her.

“Darling, you came!” Alisa beamed, kissing her with both hands on her cheeks.

Akaashi sat up, swallowing a laugh and wiping tears from his eyes. “H-hey, Saeko,” he said around his laughs. “What’s up? No shoes.”

“I know, I know, I’ll just stay here, don’t worry,” she said, pulling out her phone and taking a picture of Bokuto, which threw Akaashi into another fit of gleeful laughter.

Alisa skipped to the front of the room to get her bag and began letting her hair down. “Class done? We’ve got a date to get to.”

Akaashi crouched beside Bokuto, petting his sweaty hair. “Yeah, we’re done. You going to survive?” This last bit was directed to Bokuto as he leaned down close to him.

Saeko called from the door, “Bo, you look like shit.”

He didn’t say anything except to extend a rude hand gesture her way.

The girls left, the dancers packed their things, swept the floor around Bokuto, and as they were leaving Akaashi saw Yahaba pull his boyfriend Kyoutani (the DJ at the club Bokuto and his friends frequented) into the lobby to point out Bokuto on the floor while whispering to him. They both shared a laugh as Kyoutani saw Bokuto stumble to his feet, then the two of them disappeared out the door together, Yahaba leaning his head over to talk, probably regaling tales of the day’s dance class.

“Come on, Kou,” Akaashi said, extending a hand to him, “let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

When they finally made it back to the house, Bokuto took a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and collapsed on the couch.

“What are you doing?” Kuroo asked, barely glancing up from the game of _Mario Party 8_ he and Kenma were playing together.

Bokuto grumbled, “Icing my balls.”

Kenma was the one to pause the game so he could look over and study Bokuto. “You’re ruining the peas.”

“My balls are more important than peas.”

Akaashi giggled, leaning over the couch to kiss Bokuto’s cheek. “You’ll be fine. You just gotta stretch more.”

Bokuto buried his face into the pillow on the couch. “If I ever _stretch_ like that again assume I’ve gone mad and _commit me_.”

Everyone but Bokuto snickered at that. Kuroo and Kenma resumed their game and Akaashi went to the cramped bathroom at the back of the house to shower. When he was through, he found Bokuto spread out on his bed, wearing nothing but his boxers. Akaashi moved to kneel on the bed beside him, dappling his fingers down his chest.

“Hey,” he said, unable to hide his smile, “you okay?”

Bokuto grunted a little, reaching up an arm to curl around Akaashi’s waist and pull him down on top of him. They’d done it so long and so often that it was almost second nature for Akaashi to fold his arms over his chest so he wouldn’t jab him in the belly with his elbows and rest their hips together like puzzle pieces. “You’ve killed me.”

“You did really well.”

“I am _not_ a ballet dancer.”

Akaashi laughed. “No,” he admitted, “but you still tried, and I’m very proud of you.”

Bokuto took a deep breath, the motion making his chest rise and Akaashi giggle like he was on a kid’s carnival ride. He looked like he was nesting down for sleep and Akaashi settled himself more comfortably on his chest, laying his chin on his arms.

“So,” Akaashi said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

Bokuto opened one eye to look at him. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, silly.” Akaashi laughed, patting his chest. “I was just going to tell you that I got an email. There’s going to be another open audition.”

Bokuto raised his head, looking worried. “What, really?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi smiled. “I’ve got plenty of time to come up with something interesting.” He’d gotten the email earlier in the day while he’d been at the studio, and already had been trying to think of songs or steps he could use to impress.

Bokuto stroked a hand up his back. “So soon?”

“Well… yes, I have to. I can’t wait much longer. I’m already too old for some companies,” he said sadly.

“Oh…” Bokuto mumbled, and Akaashi felt rather than heard the frustrated grumble in his chest. “Are you sure that—” but he stopped himself, laying his head back and closing his eyes. After a moment of silence where it seemed like he was trying to come up with something supportive he said, “I’m in awe of you every day, Keiji.”

“Nonsense.” Akaashi laid his head on his arms, watching the pulse point in Bokuto’s throat. “You’re the amazing one, I think.”

“No,” Bokuto said in a softly self-deprecating voice, “No, I’m not. I’m just a boy from the streets who—” He sighed, clutching his arms tighter around Akaashi’s waist. Before Akaashi could protest his words he said, “So, this time, when you audition, you’ll get—… whatever it is, right? A part or an invitation to go dance with people?” He sounded like he was trying to say something else, but didn’t want Akaashi to know.

Akaashi sat up to better see his face. “Koutarou, why do you sound so sad?”

Bokuto opened his eyes, but stared at the bed frame above him. “Because I am sad.”

“W—” Akaashi flustered, wiggling upwards. “What? Why? Are you—what's wrong?” He heard the panic in his own voice, and felt it in the tingling in his chest.

“I just,” Bokuto started, then sighed and shifted so that he could sit up on some pillows and Akaashi slipped off his chest to lay beside him. “When you audition, and you blow everyone away, and you _go away_ to go be… what you need to be…” The pain in his voice was nothing compared to the pain in his eyes, which wouldn't meet Akaashi’s. “But I want you to do well, I want you to see the world from a stage, just like you dream.”

Akaashi’s heart hurt. He felt suddenly sick. He wanted to go back to the studio, to be teasing and playful with Bokuto, to not be having this conversation.

It was too close.

“I…” he muttered, at a loss and grasping for words that would make Bokuto feel better, but didn’t know if there really were any. “We don’t know what will happen, though. They could decide that I'm not good enough. Just like all the other times.”

Bokuto reached a hand up and brushed his fingers through Akaashi's hair, then cupped his cheek. “No, if they can see even half of what I see when I look at you… you’ll get in. You’ll get _it._ You’ll get whatever you want.”

Akaashi stared at him, and slowly shook his head. “Not… not necessarily. And besides, it could be a small company—”

“It won't be.”

“That’s staying close or—”

“They won't. They’ll travel the world, just like you want.”

“Or I won't get in at all!” Akaashi finished, loud.

“You will.”

He snapped, “Shut up!” Then his lip trembled, his throat was hot. “I.. I didn't mean…” He dropped his head to Bokuto’s chest. “We don't know… we don't know anything. I could get hurt again,” he felt Bokuto’s hand tense in his hair, “or—or maybe I'll decide I don't want to do it anymore. Maybe they'll hate me, or there will be, like, prodigies there or something and then it won't matter what I do they’ll get picked and I can stay here.” He was shaking, and Bokuto tugged him closer, hugging him hard, like he could keep all his pieces from falling apart. “I can stay and teach and learn other things and I can be with you.”

“No,” Bokuto said softly, kissing his head. “No, you need to go follow your dreams. Don't let silly little me hold you back. I would never forgive myself.”

But Akaashi had two dreams, now. Two very different dreams. Both of them could not happen. Only one. And no matter what happened he was going to feel the loss of the other so deeply it might shake him down to his core.

“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Akaashi whispered into Bokuto’s chest. “There's no point. Not when… it might not happen, anyway.”

Bokuto stroked his hair. “It'll happen.”

Akaashi was quiet for a long time, pretending that he didn't have to think about it. After a time Bokuto said, “I've been thinking about getting a job.” His voice was heavy with words not said.

“Yeah? Kenma would like that. Your wallet would, too.”

Bokuto chuckled. “Well, it'd be a while. I was thinking I could do… oh, what’s it called? Sports medicine. I think? Between you and Kuroo I'm getting pretty good at taking care of injured people.”

Akaashi snorted a little laugh, reaching up to wipe his face before he raised his head. “Hopefully you won’t have to do it to either of us anymore, once Kuroo is better.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Bokuto said, forcing a laugh even though Akaashi could see that he didn’t really want to laugh. “But I—I dunno, I thought I could do that. The rehab or the therapy or whatever. I’d have to go to school, so I’d need to save up and get a loan or whatever. I don’t know how all that works.”

“You could ask Yahaba, he’s good with numbers. Oikawa’s also in school… isn’t Terushima, too?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, his nose scrunching up in thought. “I can’t remember for what though. It’s a tech school, though.”

“I think that’d be good,” Akaashi told him, laying his head back down. “You’re very thoughtful, and you’re good at motivating people.”

“But first I have to finish this year’s competition, and then I’ll have to figure out the loan stuff, and get the paperwork, and probably take some tests…” He sighed, heavy. “Know what, I don’t wanna talk about that either.”

Akaashi rubbed his cheek against Bokuto’s skin, and they were silent as they were both lost in their thoughts. The sounds of _Mario Party_ and Kuroo and Kenma’s voices rose and fell in the distance, Kuroo was losing, as usual, and was mad about it, but Kenma kept saying, “If you’d pay attention to the instructions you might win a few.”

“Stop pressing start before I’m ready! You read to fast.”

“Tell me to wait, then.”

“You know by now I’m a slow reader.”

“You know that I’m a fast reader, so tell me to wait.”

Silence for several minutes while they played a game or something, the little trills and dings of the game were louder than their voices. Then Kuroo snapped, “Okay, now I think you’re just cheating.”

“You say that every time.”

“Cause you are!”

“No, you’re just bad at video games.”

“I am not!”

“You’re too emotional.”

“Oh, I’ll show you emotional.”

Then there was silence again, this time without the sounds of the game and Bokuto chuckled. “Kuroo’s pouting again.”

Akaashi said, “Do you think he’s really that bad?”

“No, he’s actually really good at video games.” Bokuto laughed. “He’s just not as good as Kenma.”

“Oh.”

Akaashi closed his eyes, letting his mind wander as Bokuto’s warmth permeated his skin. He hadn’t realized how much Bokuto _felt_ about their future. He hadn’t realized that Bokuto had thought about it, because Akaashi himself certainly hadn’t. He’d have been happy to just plod along pretending that they could stay this way forever. Could they? It was very possible that he’d never get a call back. And, while it still stung, it didn’t make the knife twist behind his breastbone the same way the thought once did.

He was happy more than he wasn’t, these days, even if he was still only a teacher and his dreams of a stage seemed so far away. He was happy because he’d found a family in all his friends. Kenma was like a brother to him, and he was even beginning to like Kuroo. A little bit.

He was happy because he’d found someone that would love him even if it broke him in half. Akaashi looked up, sliding up on the bed so he could kiss Bokuto, and wrap his arms around his neck to hold him close. “You know I love you, right?” he asked between kisses, feeling his chest shivering with the desire to get the words out.

Bokuto’s hands slid up his back, comforting and familiar. “Yes.”

But Akaashi heard what he didn’t say: _i’m not worth it._

“Yes,” Akaashi told him, cupping his face and tangling their legs together. “You are,” he said. He hoisted himself up to straddle Bokuto’s hips, still kissing him, until suddenly Bokuto let out a groan — of pain. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?” Akaashi asked, leaping off him.

Bokuto grimaced, rubbing hand between his legs.

Akaashi laughed, just once, a loud, all consuming laugh, unable to help it. “Did you _really_ bruise your balls? Hell, Bo, I thought you were tougher than that! Do you want me to check?” He was giggling again, and flopped over on the bed to roll onto his belly because Bokuto threw a sharply pointed glare at him when he tried to grab at his boxers.

“Shut up!” Bokuto huffed. “And no, I don’t think so… just pulled —I dunno— _every single muscle_ in my leg.”

Akaashi wheezed a little, holding his stomach. “Koutarou,” he managed, “you remember your _first_ lesson with me, right?”

Bokuto sat up, rubbing the inside of his legs. “Yeah, the one that got you to date me. I’ll never forget the way you touched me. I wanted to throw you on the floor and —”

Akaashi said, cutting this vulgar line of thought off, “And what made you think that a _real_ lesson would be any easier?”

Bokuto pouted, shaking his head. “I didn’t think it’d be easier, I just didn’t know it was _harder_.” Suddenly he took a pillow and smacked it over Akaashi’s face. “Stop laughing at me!” But he was laughing too, so the threat of suffocation was not very poignant, and Akaashi kept giggling, until Bokuto laid over top of him and attempted to squish him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I've got a lot of _things_ going on right now, both writing and in my life, and I've caught up with everything that I've written with this fic. So if this doesn't get updated every week, I'm very sorry. :/ But it will absolutely get finished, I just don't want to rush writing it and hating it or not doing it justice. The last few chapters have sort of felt that way and... I've just posted them because I thought I _needed_ to ... but I don't want to do that and have the end of this story (because it is close, idk quite how many chapters) be rushed; it would be a disservice to all the loyal readers.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

“This was a horrible idea,” Bokuto said, straining down the stairs with a heavy box filled with books.

They were moving Akaashi’s things from his apartment, either taking them to Bokuto’s house, the local pawn shop, the dump, or to any interested party that wanted the things he didn’t need anymore. “So you want to put it all back?”

“No!” Bokuto gasped, and dropped the box with the pile of other boxes next to Clarence. He leaned on the car and heaved a breath. “Damn, you got a lot of shit.”

Akaashi chuckled. “Well, I’m getting rid of nearly all of it.”

Bokuto raised his eyebrows at him. “So you changed your mind about—”

“Absolutely not,” Akaashi told him firmly. “I need it.”

“It’s, like, a hundred pounds. More, I think.”

“It is _not_ …” Bokuto stared at him until Akaashi rolled his eyes. “Well, you can lift _me,”_ Akaashi countered, “so why can’t you lift it?” Akaashi had decided to get rid of all his furniture, since all of it was bought second hand years ago anyway, and wouldn’t fit in Bokuto and Kuroo’s house, either. He’d packed away his clothes and belongings and told himself and Bokuto that he’d keep only what they could fit in Clarence. With Bokuto manhandling the boxes, it was more than he’d thought, but he hadn’t budged on his ice maker. It was coming with them even if they had to rent a big truck, Akaashi had said. They wouldn’t—they’d just have to put all the seats down and convince Clarence to grow bigger momentarily. But Akaashi would be damned if he lost his ice baths, he’d grown to really enjoy them… or at least what they did for his muscles.

Bokuto pretended to melt against Clarence, as if he’d lost all the bones in his body. “It’s different—I _like_ picking you up.”

“Please?” Akaashi stepped over to him, pressing his hands to his stomach and leaning on him. “You’re so big and strong and I _know_ you want me to have it. It’s so good for me and makes me feel better. Plus, think of all the ice you’d have for parties.”

Bokuto frowned down at him, one eyebrow raised. He clearly didn’t want to do it, but with a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes he said, “Fine. Let’s get this stuff home first. We’ll come back for it.”

Akaashi stood on his toes and kissed him, grinning with delight. “Thank you.”

“Mhm—thank me later, okay?”

They managed to shove the last of the boxes into Clarence and stuff themselves in the front so they could go home. Akaashi hadn’t really thought about it, but he’d called the little house his home for a while now, so the only real change he was making was finding a place for all his junk and work out a chore wheel with the other three. And possibly a shower schedule.

At the house their way was blocked by a little green car in the driveway. Bokuto squinted at it. “Did someone get a new car?” he asked, as if Akaashi would know. Luckily, this time, he did.

“That’s Oikawa’s car!” he said, confused. “What’s he doing here?” _he asked_ , as if Bokuto would know.

“Let’s find out.” Bokuto parked on the sidewalk and hopped out, reaching in the back to grab a box when Akaashi pointed out that if they did it now they wouldn’t have to make as many trips. Bokuto leaned his hip on the front door and kicked at it with his heel in such a way that it popped open without him having turn the knob since his hands were full.

Akaashi said, “We should probably get that looked at.”

“Can you do it?” Bokuto countered.

“Well, no. But it’s not—”

“If strangers can’t do it, we’re safe. We lock it at night and when we’re not home.” He stepped fully inside the house and stopped, frowning in the direction of the kitchen. Akaashi had to push past him, and saw Kuroo and Oikawa sharing a drink at the island counter, Kuroo leaning forward on his arms like he did when he was trying to intimidate or study someone.

Oikawa turned when they came in and beamed. “There you are! I wondered if you’d show up.”

“What are you doing here?” Akaashi asked as he set his box down in the hallway and moved closer to the island. He had to endure an all encompassing hug from Oikawa before the other explained himself.

“I’m here to take the budding little musician to school with me. Just for a bit, to show him around and see if he wants to enroll next year.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Akaashi had hoped that Oikawa and Kenma would get along, but their friendship was blooming in a way he hadn’t expected, and he was overjoyed that they were becoming so close. Kenma would spend hours on his laptop studying the things Oikawa would send him, and making new music, just overall being enraptured with music in a whole new way.

“Wait,” Bokuto said, his voice not as nice as it usually was, “where is this place?” He dropped his own box beside Akaashi’s and folded his arms over his chest. Akaashi wondered if he knew just how intimidating he could look. His eyes narrowed and his nose curled a little, showing his displeasure.

But Oikawa didn’t seem phased by Bokuto’s distaste (Akaashi secretly thought he thrived on things like that) because he only smiled wider. “The university in the city. It’s not far. I won’t lose him, I promise.”

Bokuto made a little noise in his throat. “He doesn’t like crowds.”

Behind Oikawa, Kuroo picked up his mug and smiled into it as he took a sip. Akaashi had no doubt that Kuroo had already interrogated Oikawa about what his plans were, but it seemed that Bokuto was just as protective of Kenma. Akaashi wondered if he felt that way about the entire crew, or just the ones in the house. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find out, honestly, if that meant someone else could get hurt.

“I know,” Oikawa said, waving a hand. “That’s why we’re going at night. Not nearly as many people.”

Bokuto still looked ruffled so Akaashi placed a hand on his chest. “Help me with these boxes,” he said, tugging on his shirt. Bokuto glanced at Oikawa again before he obediently followed Akaashi back to the car. They spent several trips in and out carrying boxes and bags and things before all of Akaashi’s things were in their room. Akaashi heard Kuroo giving Oikawa a _Kenma-Care-Manual—_ how to tell when he was tired, and to make sure he ate dinner, and not drive too fast, and keep him away from crowds, and...

Akaashi thought it was hilarious, and had to stop himself from cracking up every time they passed. Finally, Kenma came out of the back, looking like he’d just taken a hasty shower and pulled his hair back into a messy ponytail and said, “Tetsu, shut up. I’m not a child.”

Kuroo snickered. “Just making sure you’ll be alright.”

Oikawa smiled between them and said in an overly polite tone, “Don’t worry, I’ll have him home by eleven.”

Kenma scowled, picking up his laptop bag. “Don’t you start too, please. Come on, let’s go. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Perfectly alright.” Oikawa waved at them all as they left and Kuroo closed the door after shooting a few eye daggers between Kuroo and Bokuto.

They were silent for a few moments before Akaashi said, “That’s great. I’m glad they’re getting along so well.”

Bokuto leaned over to him. “Your friend’s not going to kidnap him is he?”

“Pft, what? No, of course not. Oikawa’s not—okay, he’s weird, but he’s not going to hurt him.”

Kuroo chuckled. “Kenma can probably protect himself. I gave him bear mace.”

Akaashi stared at him.

“Also a knife.”

“Oh my god.”

Bokuto said, “Hope your friend doesn’t _startle_ him.”

“He won’t _stab_ Oikawa,” Akaashi huffed.

Kuroo grinned into his mug. “Guess we’ll see. Wanna play Mario Kart until we know if we have to call the police?”

Bokuto leapt over the couch to snatch up his favorite controller (he said it brought him good luck) and shouted, “I call baby Luigi!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Keiji,” Bokuto said, sounding frustrated. “Stop _thinking_ about it.”

They’d been practicing for hours, first alone and then when the rest of the crew came. Akaashi had been teaching all day and he was _exhausted_ but the competition was barely two months away and the crew kept changing songs and moves and steps and it was driving him crazy. Kuroo had come this time—not to dance, but to sit and observe, offering helpful ideas or thoughts.

To make things more difficult, they didn’t use the same song every time, and the rhythm of the dance would change, and no one but Akaashi seemed to have a problem with that. They could improvise and feed off each other to make the transition flawless, leaving Akaashi far behind and feeling like a fool.

“I don’t know how to do that!” Akaashi said back, frustration making his voice louder than it should have been. When the crew had come in today no one had mentioned the way the rehearsals had ended last week, but Akaashi’s face still burned with shame and he felt the eyes of the others on him as time went on and he kept ruining the dance and having to have things explained to him. He hadn’t felt so useless since he’d been a child. He pressed his hands to his eyes, trying not to scream. He’d fucked up _again_ and Bokuto had stopped everything to try to explain to him—what? Dancing? He knew how to dance. “Look,” he said, not raising his face, “maybe this was a bad idea. I can’t do this. You don’t need me. You can use the studio to practice but—”

Bokuto wrapped his fingers around his wrist and pulled them away from his face. “Hey, now, stop that.” He smiled, then sighed in frustration when Akaashi pulled his hands away. “Don’t be like that.”

“Be like _what?_ Myself!?” Akaashi huffed. “I just can’t do it. I—” He looked away, his throat tight as he realized how much he _wanted_ to dance with them… but that he _couldn’t_. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, the lie of it burning his cheeks.

“Yes you do,” Bokuto told him, grinning. “Look, just stop thinking. Just dance for the fun of it.”

Akaashi pulled away, stress and frustration making his fingers nearly numb. He flexed them as he paced in a small circle. “But this isn’t _fun_. This is serious and you all have been working to win this contest for longer than I’ve known you and I can’t fuck up but I keep doing it and I can’t—”

Bokuto had been watching him pace, but finally reached out and took his hand. “Stop that.”

“I can’t do it,” Akaashi whispered.

From the front of the room Kuroo called, “Didn’t you ever do improv or anything?”

“Not like this…”

Kuroo pointed to Nishinoya. “Improv.”

And with absolutely no hesitation Nishinoya did a little jig, tip-tapping his way across the floor and looking cool, then he spun around and pointed two finger guns at Tanaka. He didn’t miss a beat and dropped into a spinning, whirl-y-gig breakdance where only his hands touched the floor and propelled him in circles. When he was through, instead of simply stopping, he threw himself into the air in an impressive backflip.

“See?” Bokuto grinned. “Easy.”

Akaashi was already shaking his head. “That’s just—”

“Just feel the music,” Bokuto told him, reaching a hand out and touching Akaashi’s cheek with his fingers. He pulled Akaashi towards an empty space as a different song began over the speakers. 

( _Song Selection: No One - Biometrix)_

“Bo, what’s—”

“Shh,” Bokuto grinned, touching his fingers to Akaashi’s shoulders. “Don’t think.” His hands slid down to Akaashi’s throat and pulled him close for a kiss even as the music got louder. Akaashi could feel his heart fluttering in his chest, and he thought he felt Bokuto’s under his palm as he laid his hand on his chest. Were they beating in sync with each other? Or was that just the beat of the music in their blood?

Bokuto’s hand moved down his back as he pulled away, the other shaped itself as it slid down Akaashi’s chest, and Akaashi closed his eyes as he leaned backwards, bowing back over Bokuto’s hand. When he came up Bokuto stepped away, pulling him by the hand and raising it over his head to make Akaashi do a quick turn.

“What are we doin—”

But Bokuto shook his head, stepping chest to chest so that Akaashi gasped in surprise. He took Akaashi’s hands in his own and held them out as he leaned his head down, mouth hovering, almost a kiss, rolling his hips in time with the heavy beat. Akaashi’s entire body shivered.

Then the spell broke as the loud, synthetic beat slapped into his ears. He burst out laughing and backed away. “Stop it, this is silly.”

But Bokuto’s eyes were focused, he didn’t miss a beat and stepped up to him, gripping his hips and turning him around so they were pressed together, chest to back. The heat of him melted into Akaashi’s spine and he leaned back against him. Bokuto’s hands gripped handfuls of the shorts at his hips and rocked his hips against his own when the synthetic chorus bled into the second verse, quick and fast.

“Move,” Bokuto said into his ear, so low Akaashi felt it vibrate in his chest. He touched his mouth behind Akaashi’s ear and Akaashi dropped his head back, his breath catching in his throat.

As it turned out, his body _did_ know what to do. With Bokuto zippered in behind him and moving like sex on the dance floor Akaashi found himself following along with him. Ever since the first time they’d danced together Akaashi had felt _something_ inside him spark to life each time.

The others had formed a half circle around them and were grinning and dancing with them, a large beast that lived on nothing but the music in the air.

The spark ignited. Bokuto was the fuel, his hands moving Akaashi’s hips and Akaashi letting him. He could hardly believe what he saw in the mirror—he didn’t think that was the same person—this person knew how to _dance_ , knew he was born with it in his bones. He was confident in the provocative back and forth of his hips. In the generalized sharp motions of his chest and head as he rocked with the man behind him. Bokuto’s hands left his hips to slide over his belly, pressing his shirt up to reveal the pale sloping muscles of his stomach. If they’d had less clothing, it would be sex. And they looked _hot_. They looked like one creature, connected by movement. Akaashi couldn’t believe it, even as he witnessed it.

But then Bokuto whispered against his ear. “Jump, I’ll catch you,” and Akaashi remembered it was _him_. He was with Bokuto, dancing with him, loving him, and he trusted this man with his whole self. Bokuto twisted him around, and before Akaashi could really get his feet under him, _hurled_ him upwards. Akaashi didn’t hesitate, but whipped himself around in a tight spin, and when Bokuto caught him with a firm hand on his spine he dropped his head and arms back, absolutely certain that Bokuto would keep him safe. He closed his eyes, letting his breath out as a smile touched his face. _This,_ he thought, _is fun._

He was lowered to his feet, sliding down Bokuto’s chest, and Bokuto wrapped his arms around his shoulders, hugging him close. “You _can_ do it, my pretty little dancer. You can.”

Akaashi was shaking, trying to suck in breath and finding it difficult. He leaned against Bokuto’s strength, his legs feeling weak. Kuroo whistled at them, grinning and pumping a measly fist in the air, having to be careful not to injure himself. The rest of the crew followed suit, laughing and causing a generalized triumphant ruckus.

“Kou…” Akaashi said, voice trembling, “if you teach everything like that you’d be a damn good teacher.”

Bokuto laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Only for you.”

Akaashi took a deep, shaking breath, and pulled away from him. “Yeah, if you touch anyone else like that I’d kill you.”

“Only one thing,” Bokuto said, reaching up and squeezing Akaashi’s cheeks with his fingers. “You gotta put away your pretty face.”

Akaashi frowned at him in the mirror, then jerked his face away when Bokuto tried to squeeze again. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look too… nice. Half of dance battling is in the _attitude_ and you look all focused and serious. You gotta look like you wanna beat the shit out of the other people. Or like they smell really bad. Preferably both at the same time.”

“That’s _dumb,_ ” Akaashi said, shaking his head.

Noya bounced up to them, wiggling his legs like he’d lost all his bones in his them. When he stopped he popped his finger guns at Akaashi and then laughed as Akaashi pretended to clutch at his chest. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Akaashi rubbed at his chest, suddenly feeling sheepish and embarrassed remembering how he’d had a _sensual experience_ in front of all of them. “Ask away.”

Noya cocked his head. “Can you really do the splits?”

Beside him, Bokuto let out a loud hyena bark of a laugh. “You fucking serious!?”

“Well I’ve never seen him do it!” Noya said, folding his arms in a huff.

Akaashi grinned, waving a hand at Bokuto to shut him up. “Yes, I can.”

“Like—all the ways?”

“Oh every way imaginable,” Bokuto said, then grunted in pain when Akaashi jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow.

“What do you mean, Noya?”

Noya shrugged. “Like. Can you do the… up-down one?”

Akaashi laughed, and nodded. “I can do it pretty much all the ways.”

“Ohhhh,” Noya glanced between them. He fidgeted like he wanted to ask Akaashi to demonstrate, but didn’t get a chance to.

In the silence Saeko quipped, “So—it doesn’t hurt your balls like it did our fearless leader?”

Bokuto whipped around, pointing a finger at her. “Shut the fuck up!”

But he was drowned out by the peals of laughter from everyone else. Saeko had sent the picture she’d taken of Bokuto collapsed on the floor to _everyone_ , much to Bokuto’s dismay and fury. He’d managed to avoid most of the fallout from the picture circulating their friend group by simply snarling at everyone who mentioned it.

Saeko was across the room, and all he could do was glare as everyone laughed.

From where Alisa, Suga, Oikawa, Kenma and Kuroo were all sitting against the mirror watching Kuroo shouted, “We had to throw out our peas.”

Bokuto rolled his eyes so hard they looked like they might pop out, which caused Akaashi to laugh even harder, then have to flee across the room as Bokuto snatched for him. “Not my fault you’re inflexible.”

He was close enough to them that he heard when Alisa leaned over to Saeko and said, “I can do the splits _all the ways_ too.” And everyone who heard turned and looked at them. Most of them had to turn away just as quick at the look of adoration and lust that crossed Saeko’s face as she crouched to give Alisa a very thorough kiss.

“Hey, c’mon!” Terushima called to Kenma, “Put some music on.”

_(Song Selection: Bang Bang - Jessie J)_

When he did, Alisa shrieked so loudly several people jumped half a foot in the air in surprise. She leapt up, grabbing Saeko and screaming, “This is my _song!_ Fuckin’ dance with me! Yukie!” She dragged Alisa to the floor and Yukie obediently moved closer, laughing. “Do you know the dance?!” Alisa shouted over the music.

“What dance?” Saeko shouted back.

But Alisa didn’t answer her with words, and instead grabbed her hands and just started dancing. It was a _girl dance_ and even though Saeko and Yukie didn’t know what Alisa was doing they joined in gleefully. Alisa did not hold back her goddess-like sexuality and every eye in the room was on here.

Especially Saeko, who dropped to her knees behind her girlfriend and slid her hands over Alisa’s hips while she rolled her body and shimmied her ass in her face. Saeko looked _extremely_ grateful for the closeness of this act, especially because Alisa was still in her tiny dance skirt. 

After a moment of watching the three girls dance and look like the very definition of _girl power_ Akaashi said to Bokuto, “Why does she know how to do that? She’s a ballet dancer, too.”

Bokuto didn’t take his eyes off the women, but said out of the side of his mouth. “You’re the only one with hangups about shaking your ass.” He grabbed a handful of Akaashi’s ass just to make him blush and prickle up. “In public anyway.”

Akaashi slapped his hand away. “Stop that!” He shooed him away. “Go dance with them.”

“It’s a _girl anthem_ , Keiji.”

“I dare you.”

Bokuto’s eye twitched. If he was one thing it was a man who didn’t back down from _a dare._ So he slouched off the wall and moonwalked his way over to the girls. The others in the crew let out shouts and cat-calls, both excited and curious to see if they’d allow him to dance with them.

They did not.

And actually, what happened was this:

Alisa whipped her head around, her golden hair haloing around her head and she stomped up to him (still to the beat, which was impressive to Akaashi) and placed her fingers on his chest to walk him out of their space saying, “Not today, daddy.”

He laughed and bounced away, and when Alisa thrust her chest at him he fell backwards dramatically as if he’d been shot with a cannonball. He lay prone on the floor as Alisa continued her dance while standing over him. He sat up on his elbows and grinned up at her, but when he reached to touch her leg she _slapped_ his hand so hard everyone heard it over the music and howled with gleeful laughter.

By then Yukie and Saeko had followed Alisa’s lead and the three girls danced around Bokuto (who, by all accounts, looked a very happy man). It looked like they were preparing him for sacrifice. And as the music ended all three of them put a foot on his chest and shoved him to the floor. Akaashi was glad they weren’t allowed to wear shoes, especially heels, in the studio or Bokuto would have holes in his chest.

Instead he lay spread eagle on the floor, grinning up at the women around him. It was at this moment that Akaashi remembered that Bokuto liked both men _and_ women… and he wondered if he should be jealous instead of amused. “Ahhh, ladies,” Bokuto said in the lull between songs, “you’ve killed me.”

Alisa giggled, stepping off him and throwing her arms around Saeko to kiss her cheek.

“You’re so hot,” Saeko declared, grinning and sliding her hands over Alisa’s waist. “That was amazing.”

Yukie extended a hand to help Bokuto up. “Yeah, Alisa, that was _really_ cool!” she said, breathless but pleased.

“God I love watching girls dance,” Terushima remarked, pretending to fan himself. “Raises the temperature a little.”

“A lot,” Noya added.

Tanaka said, “That’s my sister.”

“You sister’s a goddess,” Terushima pointed out.

Tanaka punched his arm. “She’s also too old for you.”

Alisa turned her head towards them and yelled, “She’s _taken_ thank you very much.”

The boys all blushed and seemed to be admonished so Bokuto said, “Hey, y’know, it’d be cool to have another girl with us.”

“Oh, really?” Alisa asked, beaming.

“Yeah, absolutely! Never hurts to have more ladies.” He turned to the group and raised a questioning hand, as if asking for opinions. After her performance no one had any objections and Bokuto swept all three women up in a huge hug. “The family grows!”

Alisa was the only one tall enough to slither her arms out and put them around his neck to return the hug. “Hey, maybe we’ll show Akaashi how to do that booty move. Some people call it the _stripper squat_ , did you know?”

“Oh god,” Akaashi muttered, already blushing so hard he felt it in his _ears_.

Bokuto’s eyebrows shot into his hair. “No! Is it really!?” He looked _way_ too happy so Akaashi stepped over to cut the conversation off before it got more dangerous.

“Can we go home now? My foot hurts.”

Immediately Bokuto dropped the girls and turned to him, reaching out as if to pick him up and carry him around the rest of the night. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi said, honestly. “It aches, but if we clean and go home now I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” He put a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, stroking his thumb up and down his throat.

“Promise.”

After Bokuto searched his face and deemed him telling the truth he said to the others, “Okay, good work. Day after tomorrow we’ll meet earlier—can everyone do nine?”

Everyone said they could, so Bokuto had them sweep the floors and then released them. When they were home Akaashi stripped and collapsed in bed, not even bothering to shower. He was too tired. Bokuto sat at the edge of the bed and stroked his fingers over the backs of Akaashi’s legs. “Are you hurting?”

Akaashi shrugged, a complicated thing when laying face down in pillows. “Just tired.”

“Go to sleep then,” Bokuto said, moving to lay beside him. They didn’t say anything as Bokuto slid his arm under him and Akaashi pressed himself into Bokuto’s chest. They usually started out the night wrapped around each other. “You know… it would be really hot to see you dance like that.”

Akaashi was almost asleep, and he only managed to breathe out, “Maybe… but I doubt I can do what they did.”

“Only if you don’t try.”

“Ha. Just dream about it, that’s all you’ll get for now.”

“Oh, I will,” Bokuto said, grinning and hugging his arms around Akaashi’s shoulders. “I bet you’d look hot as fuck in those fishnet tights and some big black pointy shoes.”

At this, Akaashi managed to gather the strength to raise his head and squint at him. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

Bokuto’s grin was wide. “Yeah, but specifically for you.”

“ _Maybe_ … if we win,” Akaashi said, dropping his head back to Bokuto’s chest. He giggled as Bokuto thrust both fists in the air in triumph.

 

* * *

 

 

Kenma stuck his head in their bedroom door and asked, “Are you busy?”

Bokuto looked up from scrolling on his phone. “Nope.”

“Not you.”

Akaashi laughed at the face Bokuto made. “No. Do you need something?”

Kenma nodded. “I wanted to—” he stopped, frowning, looking away into the corner of the room. “Do you remember how you two used to do those random routines sometimes?”

Akaashi chuckled—Bokuto would always ask to do _one more thing_ or ask if Akaashi had any new dances he wanted to work on or “Could you just make something to this song? I like this song!”

It was exhausting, but wonderful. It flexed his creative brain in ways he hadn’t had to before, because while Bokuto would play his own songs sometimes, he would oftentimes just put Akaashi’s music on shuffle and demand a dance. Akaashi could never turn him down, and they would spend a few hours goofing around, creating a fun and short routine for whatever song was playing that day. 

Sometimes the other dancers were there, and Nishinoya was always quick to record their final dances on his phone, and sometimes Saeko or someone else would do it. Akaashi didn’t care—he was used to being filmed and didn’t pay them any mind.

“Well,” Kenma was saying, typing something on his phone, “I’ve sent you an email with something I put together for you… as a thank you, I guess. For helping us.” His voice got softer, and he ducked his head a bit so his hair hid his face.

Akaashi paused, frowning in thought. “I never gave you my email address?”

Kenma’s little smile was just visible through the strands of his hair. “Anyway, I hope you like it.”

Akaashi’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, but when he looked up Kenma was gone, having backed out of the room and closed the door so softly he hadn’t heard it. Akaashi couldn’t quite figure out if Kenma was embarrassed to share his work, shy, or nervous. “How’d he get my email?”

Bokuto shrugged. “I don’t even have your email.”

Akaashi thought about it, but decided that maybe it was on a form he’d left on the counter or Kenma had seen it when he’d left his laptop open in the kitchen. He wasn’t worried about it, really as long as Kenma used his powers for good and didn’t steal his debit card information. “Wonder what it is.”

Bokuto sat up and leaned over as Akaashi opened an attachment and a video popped up. He flipped it sideways as one of Oikawa’s pieces began to play through the speakers, beautifully remixed with soft beats. It was clearly a collaboration of their musical styles. Akaashi was about to comment on how much he liked it when the screen brightened and a video began to play.

It was an old one, from before Akaashi had ever hurt himself. From the day Akaashi began teaching the others in the crew how to do turns and certain jumps. It was like a video montage of that day, from different angles and different phones probably, and Akaashi smiled, remembering how much fun he’d had that day.

Bokuto gasped in surprise. “Oh! I remember that! That was fun.”

“Mhm-hmm,” Akaashi agreed, watching the screen as the images changed, and it went on with a bunch of different times that Bokuto and Akaashi had danced together. He leaned forward, transfixed and amazed. He’d seen himself on film before—he filmed himself a lot when he was practicing solo pieces. But this was different. He _knew_ it was different. He could see how happy he was, especially when Bokuto would come up behind him and snatch him up in a big hug or kiss him. Akaashi remembered being embarrassed at the gratuitous shows of affection in public, but on video … he looked nothing but happy.

The video was long, almost five minutes, with nearly every practice they’d had together, and each time the frames changed they looked happier together, or moved together even better than the time before, and Akaashi felt his chest warming with emotion. A big, fuzzy, ball of giddiness right in the center of his chest that bubbled up in the form of a laugh.

“I can’t believe he did this.”

Bokuto leaned his head on Akaashi’s shoulder to watch, and he was smiling as he watched. “I like it. He’s got tons of these… but I didn’t know he made one for us.”

Akaashi nodded a little. “I … didn’t realize we looked like this.”

Bokuto grinned, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like…” he paused, trying to figure out how to convey how he’d never seen himself look so… _happy_ just to be dancing. Not like he was working, but like he was _enjoying himself._

“Like you’re really happy,” Bokuto said, putting an arm around him and kissing his cheek.

Akaashi nodded, leaning into him and rewinding the video when it was over so he could watch it again. “Yeah. I mean… I was happy. I am—I just…” he trailed off, liking the way that he could see himself and Bokuto dancing or goofing around together. They looked like they were connected by an invisible but powerful force most of the time, unable to take their eyes off each other.

Bokuto said softly, “You know… if you dance like that at your audition, there’s no way they could ignore you.”

Akaashi looked at him, unsure if what he saw in Bokuto’s eyes was joy or sadness. “But…” he started, and paused, because he was thinking _there’s no way I can dance like that without you._

Then an idea struck him. It was obvious. It had always been, really. He turned fully to face Bokuto and set his phone down so he could cup Bokuto’s cheeks in his hands. “Dance with me."

“Okay,” Bokuto said immediately.

“No,” Akaashi chuckled, “I mean at my audition.”

“Oh.” Bokuto pursed his lips, brow furrowing. “What if I mess it up?”

“You won’t. You couldn’t. You’re perfect.”

The edges of Bokuto’s smile disappeared into his cheeks. “I’m not. But okay. I’d love to dance with you.”

Akaashi laughed, pulling him forward and kissing him. “Thank you,” he said, touching their foreheads together. He tried not to see the way Bokuto had to hide the hurt in his eyes. They never finished talking about what they would do if Akaashi was picked at one of these auditions. Neither of them wanted to… not really. But they needed to.

But instead Bokuto put his arms around Akaashi and pulled him down to the sheets, picking up his phone again so they could watch the video and could reminisce about each of the clips.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took soooo long. Thanks for being so patient, I needed a brain break for a little while. (๑¯◡¯๑) I know not everyone listens to the music, but the music was another part of the reason. I _always_ have a song I listen to while I write any of the dance scenes but this one was especially hard because I couldn't find a good song to put any of the dancing to... so I couldn't get into a headspace for this chapter. I went through about thirty songs before I settled on one... and just used the other ones I liked as background songs for this chapter.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! <3
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Final Fight - Mixla Production)_

Bokuto _loved_ the club that hosted the finals of the yearly dance competition. It was an old renovated warehouse, with ceilings so high you had to crane your head _way_ back, but usually the very top of it was so dark it was impossible to see clearly anyway. Neon and glow-in-the-dark paint splattered the floors and walls, bouncing color and light everywhere from rotating lights hanging on the chandeliers. It was always packed full of people, and the music was always so loud it vibrated the floor and rocked the upper levels where spectators could stand around tables with their drinks once they tired of dancing.

Oh, and the _dance floor_. He loved that, too. It was multi-leveled—and sometimes dangerous on the upper floors if you weren’t careful. He’d seen people fall off, but it didn’t stop anyone else from going up there. No one had _died_ yet, at least. He loved coming and seeing all the people—women, especially. Because women _dressed up_ for clubbing, usually in something skin tight or extremely revealing, and he used to enjoy picking one of them to dance with and spending all night showering her with compliments while his fingers trailed over any bits of exposed skin he could get to.

However, the thing he loved _most_ about this club tonight was Akaashi. Terushima and Saeko had taken him out yesterday and they’d perused shops while they searched for something appropriate for Akaashi to wear, since he had only two types of clothes: ballet clothes and his everyday jeans and shirts (or, as Saeko called them, _boring-ass-school-boy_ clothes). When Akaashi had dressed earlier this evening in the garments chosen for him Bokuto had promptly removed his clothes in order to ravish him because he looked _hot_. Specifically his legs _—_ encased in black jeans so tight they looked painted on. He also sported some gold high top sneakers, Bokuto’s old letter jacket from school, and some sort of skin-tight mesh long sleeved shirt under a silvery tank top that had been artfully ripped and stretched so it showed lovely swaths of his chest and stomach. Bokuto drooled every time he looked at him.

“I don’t know how I can dance in these,” Akaashi complained, sliding his palms over the skin-tight material clinging to his thighs.

“They’re stretchy,” Alisa told him, fluffing her hair. She was dressed like she wanted people to faint upon sight of her: tiny white crop top, too-tight shorts, and criss-crossing yellow suspenders. Saeko stood next to her watching the crowd, but her fingers traced up and down one of the suspenders methodically, as if by reflex.

Akaashi was making a disgruntled face. “If my pants rip during this I’m going to _die_ of embarrassment.”

Bokuto leaned down and ran his hands over Akaashi’s hips, down the backs of his thighs and over the curve of his ass. “Just take them off if you’re that worried about it.”

The way Akaashi rolled his eyes meant that he wasn’t really annoyed. “Get your libido under control, you animal.” But he didn’t make any move to pull away from Bokuto’s hands.

Behind him, Kuroo nudged Bokuto’s ankle with his foot. “You gonna go put our name down?”

He glanced at Kuroo, and immediately around at the crowd—just checking to make sure no one was too close. He’d relented and let Kuroo come with them to the club, even though he was still worried about his stitches and healing internal injuries. If he got jostled it could cause internal bleeding and Bokuto was pretty sure that he, nor anyone else in their crew, could handle the fear of losing him again. No one was around, though, and Kenma was standing close to Kuroo’s injured side to try and protect him. “Yeah, sure.” He held his hand out to Kenma, who slipped a hand in his big baggy hoodie pocket and pulled out the large gold chain to pass it over. “Everything’s on there?” he asked, flipping open the side of the little old fashioned stereo charm on the side.

“I didn’t know it was a USB,” Akaashi said, leaning over to look at it.

Kenma told him, “It’s how we turn in the music we’re going to use.”

“Oh, that’s clever.”

“If only it wasn’t so gaudy.” Kenma rolled his eyes, wiping his fingers on his hoodie as if to rid them of the chain’s presence.

Bokuto pressed a kiss to Akaashi’s cheek then moved away and through the crowd to the DJ booth in the back. He had to step up and cling to the rail and shout to be heard, but the man took the chain back, scribbled something on the little USB, and waved him away. The crowd was overwhelming tonight and he had to muscle his way through it to get back to his friends who had moved to the least crowded back corner of the club. When he did make it, he found a sight that was wholly unexpected but appreciated by nearly everyone that was watching.

He knew that Alisa and Akaashi were professional dancers. He knew that ballet dancers were forces to be reckoned with. He knew that they were both more flexible than he had ever _dreamed_ of being. He also knew that they were a group of people who liked showing off. At least the ones he knew did. Alisa was standing on one leg, the other stretched upwards in a full split—Bokuto could see that she was in an over-split, her leg making a reverse crescent over her spine as she held onto Akaashi’s hips and laid her head on his belly. He had his hands around her thigh, pulling her leg gently deeper into the stretch. There were others around who he knew were a part of the competition, and he thought that maybe the two ballet dancers were trying to intimidate them—and they were doing a damn good job of it. Kuroo glanced over at him, eyebrows raised, impressed.

Bokuto knew he was grinning like a lecher, because he was thinking awfully dirty thoughts about how and when he could help Akaashi stretch like that… or any way. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Is Akaashi that flexible?”

Bokuto hummed happily, rubbing a hand over his belly as it heated from the inside. “Ohhh yes.”

Kuroo’s face showed that he, too, was probably thinking lewd thoughts now, and Bokuto slapped him in the arm to admonish him.

Alisa lowered her leg and straightened, stretching her arms over her head and leaning back to show off the strong muscles of her stomach. “Ooh, that felt good,” she said, grinning like a cat who had spied her prey.

“Looked good, too,” Saeko said with a grin.

“Thanks, baby.” Alisa smiled back at her, sliding her arms around Saeko’s neck and laying her head on Saeko’s. “Want a drink? We can go get something yummy. Make all the boys at the bar jealous.” Several of the others of the crew were already gone, and Bokuto thought they were either at the bar or already on the dance floor, hopefully discarding any nerves that came with them to the club.

“No,” Kuroo said, waving a hand in their direction. “No drinking before the competition. I don’t want to see you throwing up on stage.”

Saeko huffed, placing a hand on her hip. “I can hold my alcohol, thank you very much. You’re just mad you can’t drink.”

“Oh darn,” Kenma mumbled in a flat voice. He hoped that with Kuroo unable to dance or drink—it could mess with the medication he was still taking for his injuries—that the two of them would get to go home early.

“So, uh,” Bokuto leaned down so he could talk into Akaashi’s ear, “you planning on warming up like that?”

Akaashi tilted his head back to smile at him, eyes glittering with amusement. “Why? You want to help?”

Suddenly a familiar voice made them all jerk their heads up. “Well, well,” Daishou said from behind them, sneering at them all, “you managed to claw your way here. Can’t say I’m impressed.”

Bokuto narrowed his eyes, but Akaashi’s grip around his wrist held him firmly rooted to the spot. Kenma deftly stepped in front of Kuroo before he could move to confront him. Bokuto had never really had a problem with Daishou, not the way Kuroo did anyway. When they had dated a few years ago it had been a rocky thing, tumultuous in its beginning, middle, and end. The two of them were always arguing about one thing or another, picking fights just for the thrill of screaming at each other, breaking up in violent hurricanes of emotions. They both had been at fault, and Bokuto had told Kuroo several times that he should just stop, all he was doing was hurting himself and Daishou, but Kuroo had ignored him.

When they had finally broken up for real, Daishou having to move several hours away, Kuroo telling him that they were really and truly through, Daishou had been furious. Bokuto didn’t think it was just the feeling of betrayal and the hurt of the heartbroken, but that they’d made some intense promises to each other and then burned those bridges. He didn’t blame Daishou… but he also didn’t blame Kuroo, who by then was beginning to realize the toxicity of the relationship and was moving on. But Daishou hadn’t let it go, and had found ways to get back at them as a whole, since Daishou considered everyone that he’d once been friends with poison now. They could never prove it was Daishou who had sabotaged their first participation in this competition several years ago, but Kuroo fully believed it had been his doing. He had never been even remotely polite to them and often times went out of his way to try and piss Kuroo off, just like the old days. Akaashi had told Bokuto what he’d said on the balcony during their last meeting and while Akaashi found it amusing, it had caused Bokuto to become ravenously angry.

Daishou’s lip curled into a wicked smile, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “You ready to lose again? How many years is it now? This will be the fourth, right?” His eyes scanned over Alisa, looking bored, then snapped over to Akaashi and he laughed sharply. “You’re still here? I’d have thought you’ve have left by now.”

Akaashi eyed him cooly. He’d never quite managed to contort his face into features suitable for battling, but he had settled on an expression that was rather _above-it-all, too-cool-for-you,_ and he directed this half sneering, half bored expression towards Daishou now, his voice matching his tone: “Go away. You aren’t intimidating, you’re being pathetic. And your hat is stupid.” Akaashi didn’t wait for a response, but gripped Bokuto’s wrist and pulled him away, not even looking back as he walked towards the dance floor.

Bokuto looked over his shoulder to see that Kenma was dragging Kuroo away, too. Alisa and Saeko had outright ignored him, and Daishou was left red faced and furious in the corner. He sped up his gait to say to Akaashi, “That hat really is dumb, isn’t it?”

Akaashi shrugged. “I don’t really care one way or the other, but I don’t like him—he was so rude to me last time!—and if he wore it he probably likes it. I wanted to make him mad, but he’s not really worth our time.” He was looking around, eyes darting over the sea of people packed together. “Ah, I see Noya and Teru, let’s go dance with them.”

Bokuto beamed, delighted. “You want to dance?”

“Well I’m having a little panic attack.”

Bokuto blinked, stopping and turning Akaashi around so he could see his face. “Are you okay?”

Akaashi nodded, but his cheeks were flushed and he looked fluttery and jittery, like he was amped up on too much caffeine. “Yeah, just nervous.”

“Do you want—”

“I want to get my mind off it,” Akaashi said. “I think it’ll help me calm down, so will you dance with me or not?”

Bokuto would never turn Akaashi down. So they slipped into the crowd, so close together that Bokuto could feel heat radiating off Akaashi’s skin through his clothes. In the weeks that followed his breakdown at rehearsals he’d been trying harder to follow Bokuto’s advice. They would spend several hours every day in the studio alone with the music turned up so loud they couldn’t actually hear each other even when they shouted. Bokuto would use this time to try and get Akaashi’s mind to stop being so loud and to teach his body to move with the music. He’d gotten better at it once he stopped thinking that he looked bad doing it, bolstered by Bokuto constantly telling him that he was beautiful and sexy no matter _what_ he was doing.

In the darkened, pulsing light of the club they danced so close they were once again like one entity, moving together, breathing each other's breath, Akaashi looping his arms around Bokuto’s shoulders. Bokuto lost himself in watching Akaashi, wanting to worship him, guiding his body with his hands on Akaashi’s hips. Akaashi relaxed into his touch, even closing his eyes and dropping his head back as he laughed aloud, the sound bursting out of him and dissolving on the air.

Some time later they were both panting and sweat drenched and managed to disentangle themselves out of the crowd to the bar—Akaashi insisting on water even though Bokuto felt stupid when he asked for it and the bartender raised one sharp, pierced eyebrow that said _are you serious._ Bokuto spent the next half hour meandering around the club finding his friends and shepherding them back together, feeling all together like some mother duckling. Once he got them back Kuroo was in charge of keeping them there and—when he stopped paying attention or got distracted by something Kenma was saying to him—Akaashi was there to tell them to stay put until they were all gathered together again.

_(Song Selection: Awakening of the Souls - BreathtakingBeats)_

The dance floor was cleared of bodies, the people being pressed up into the second and third story balconies as a different crowd filled out portions of the dance floor, leaving a huge space in the middle. Daishou sneered at them from his place on one of the upper floors and Bokuto glared back until Akaashi slipped a hand up the back of his shirt, his fingers playing along the hem of his jeans to distract him. The contest was done in elimination style—two groups battling it out and either cheered on or booed off until there were only two left. Then the final pair would face off until one or the other was the decided winner… oftentimes declared by the deafening roar of the crowd.

They huddled around the sidelines while they watched others take their turns—Bokuto periodically having to keep the Three Stooges from jumping down into the thick of things. He wasn’t really watching the contest because he wasn’t really worried about them—they’d beaten the others every year they’d come here without fail, and he knew the only group he needed to actually worry about was Daishou and his crew who, since they won last year, didn’t have to drudge their way up the brackets. Instead, he was watching Akaashi who was watching the others, leaning over the railing to see better and observing with rapt attention. Bokuto pressed a hand up under his shirt, feeling the sweat-slicked skin and spreading his fingers wide when Akaashi’s spine bent to press into his hand.

“You okay?”

Akaashi nodded, but the crease between his brows deepened. “They’re all really good.”

Bokuto glanced down at the dance floor, shrugging. “They’re fine. We’re better.”

Akaashi’s mouth twisted. “Better hope so.”

“We practiced a lot, don’t worry,” Bokuto told him.

They _had_ been practicing a lot, the last few weeks at least every other day, and the last week every day. Akaashi had borrowed Kenma’s laptop to watch videos of contests past to see the other routines they’d done, and googled other famous crews to try and learn what he could from watching them. Honestly, during the last week Bokuto couldn’t tell Akaashi was a ballet dancer at all during their practices. Which was a wonder, considering that when they started he stuck out like a diamond amongst coal. (He’d told Kuroo this the last time they’d gone out for dinner and Bokuto had had one too many drinks and Kuroo had looked at him like he’d just offered a jar of acid for him to drink.) Now, at least, they all looked like coal _together._ But, like, badass coal.

As the contest wore on and more were eliminated, Bokuto felt more and more confident that they could win. Their first foray into the ring (an actual circular platform where two crews would gather) was a total wash out—the other crew had maybe thought that starting small and simple was a good thing?—and Bokuto’s crew had thrashed them within only a minute or two until they dropped off the platform to go lick their wounds. They won three rounds in quick succession, helped by the fact that they had brand new, over the top stunts that made people scream with delight. By the end of this Akaashi was laughing and _relaxed_ , making lewd, obnoxious jokes about the other crew with Terushima, helping Tanaka make rude gestures and faces to anyone that looked at them, and even helping Yaku and Daichi drag Noya back onto the platform when he leapt off trying to do a backflip and slipped before he could actually jump. (He wasn’t injured, but looked like he’d broken a muscle in his face after the entire club heard Kuroo screaming at him from the crowd.)

Now that Akaashi had shaken off his nerves Bokuto felt better about the _insane_ stunt that they’d planned for the final battle. They probably shouldn’t do it, but if he backed out now he thought the rest of the crew would disown him as leader. So he watched, and he waited, and he made sure that, as they waited to see if they would, in fact, have to face Daishou and his crew in the finals, none of his crew was too tired or dehydrated or even _too_ amped up. Careful care of his flock was his main priority.

Finally, they were standing across the platform from Daishou and his crew, the finals of the finals. Bokuto’s heart began to race—adrenaline and excitement that had so far been a slumbering, stunted thing now burst forth to overcome him. He smiled over at Daishou, silently telling him: _you’re outmatched._ At first, as they began—quick, nasty back and forth of simple tricks, daring the other side to out do them—it wasn’t strictly true. They seemed to be on equal footing, neither side able to _really_ outdo the other.

Akaashi won the first round when, after Daishou moved close, challenging him—Akaashi didn’t give him the time of day to even start. He stepped close into Daishou’s personal space, hooked an arm over his shoulder as if to tell him a dire secret, and then whipped his thick billed hat off his head. Before Daishou could even react Akaashi wheeled around and flicked it into the crowd like a frisbee, much to their delight. Bokuto reached forward and snatched Akaashi by the back of his jacket to pull him back into the safety of his crew, who rose up and surrounded him like a wave even as Akaashi laughed a high, childlike laugh of glee of one having gotten away with breaking a vase in the living room.

_(Song Selection: Badmash Beat - Perk Pietrek)_

Daishou could do nothing but tremble with rage until his own pulled him back to their side. The music rolled and tripped, catching into a different song in such a sudden, harsh way that Bokuto stepped back because he knew it was the start of the _real_ contest. Daishou’s crew spread out as Bokuto moved back, snatching Tanaka by the collar as he tried to intimidate them. Their routine was good—it always was. Bokuto liked that, liked watching them show off all their biggest, flipping-est, most dynamic tricks because when Bokuto and his crew kicked their ass this year it would be all the sweeter. However, they weren’t even in sync—or interestingly _out of sync_ —and one of their members even missed a section entirely, standing awkwardly to the side while trying to pretend it was on purpose.

At that Bokuto was a little disappointed, they wouldn’t beat Daishou’s crew at its _best_ , but they would still beat them.

Their final move was a complicated human pyramid, one of their members climbing it and flipping off the top into a bent, one legged split. Last year, Bokuto would have been impressed. Now, though…when he knew lots of people that could do _full_ splits, it was like watching a kid try to copy an adult. The crowd liked it, though, and cheered for them so loud Bokuto thought some of them must be extremely drunk. They preened to the crowd, egging them louder, until, with a little crackle of electronics, Kenma’s music began to pulse through the speakers.

_(Song Selection: Strange - Apollo G’eeze)_

He’d designed it knowing that they would need a few moments to get into position, to get the other crew off the stage. Once it hit, the bass hit _hard_ , vibrating the platform and making the crowd go _ooo!_ in excitement. The song, like their routine, was eclectic and varied—with several moving parts going on at once, something interesting for the eye to look at no matter where it looked. It left room for the individuals to shine their talents and, several times, for the group to come together as a whole for something impressive—moving with perfect synchronicity or some big stunt that involved throwing one another or building complicated looking step sequence.

This was why he danced.

This feeling.

The _sensation_ of the crowd all around him, cheering for him, his friends _with him_ and all of them doing what they loved. He was invincible. He was infinite. Everything was larger than life. There were no words to fumble over, no mistakes to think back on, no future to worry about. Just the moment and the overwhelming desire to _dance_.

Akaashi and Kuroo had come up with their final stunt together, leaving everyone speechless the first time they heard it. It involved Akaashi walking up the outstretched hands of the others until Bokuto held him aloft. Akaashi had an exceptional sense of balance, and looked perfectly comfortable standing on Bokuto’s upturned hands as if it were an everyday occurrence. The crowd hushed momentarily, awed, then gasped all together as Akaashi stepped to the side, not even looking down because he knew that Bokuto would be there to catch him as he did a simpler, but altogether more impressive, version of what the rest of the crew did on the ground with him. He didn’t hesitate to step where only a moment before had been empty air, even turning on Bokuto’s palm (he’d worn fingerless gloves for this very purpose, so the sneakers didn’t tear his skin off in quarter sized chunks) in a very non-ballet-like pirouette. When Bokuto threw him into the air, the crowd went almost entirely silent for half a breath as Akaashi did an impressive split in mid-air before landing in a tuck-and-roll and bouncing up right in front of Daishou.

The crowd erupted—screaming, clapping, cheering. It was obvious who won in a split-second.

Even as Akaashi raised his arms, accepting the praise that was being showered on him, Daishou’s face twisted into fury... he couldn’t fight the crowd, he didn’t have a second chance. So, as Bokuto leapt forward and snatched Akaashi up around the middle in a big hug and Noya leapt on the both of them in celebration, Daishou stepped back, gave a sarcastic bow, and stepped off the stage.

Akaashi was breathless and giddy, high on adrenaline and the wings of victory, but he turned his face away as Bokuto made to kiss him, turning this way and that until he put both his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders and vaulted up so that, startled, Bokuto held him up so he could see over the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Bokuto shouted up at him, being jostled by the crowd that surged onto the platform and holding Akaashi even tighter so he wasn’t knocked from his arms.

Then Akaashi thrust his fist out, shouting in triumph, and Bokuto turned to see what he was doing—then screamed with excitement when he saw Kuroo standing on a chair, fist thrust out to Akaashi in victory. Kuroo might not have been able to dance with them, but he was just as much a part of their achievement as every person that had, and Akaashi was making sure to give him the glory he deserved.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes when Akaashi woke up feeling sick, he’s comforted to know that he could roll out of bed and walk four paces to the bathroom. Unfortunately, his brain sometimes forgot the fact that that was at his old apartment and not his and Bokuto’s room.

So when he woke with his stomach rolling and head pounding, he toppled out of bed and attempted to go to the bathroom that he knew was there—only to be met with a bookshelf packed with books and DVD’s. His brain tried too hard to catch up, faltered on the leftover alcohol in his system, and skipped into uncertainty. For a long, frightening moment he had no idea where he was and his legs gave out in the confusion.

“Keiji?” Bokuto asked, worried, kicking away the blankets and coming to crouch next to him, picking him up to cradle him.

“Oh, shit,” Akaashi mumbled, the room spinning.

Bokuto sighed, slipping his arms under Akaashi’s and helping him to his feet. “Come on.” Together they shuffled to the bathroom, Bokuto practically carrying him.

He began stripping before Bokuto had even gotten the door fully closed, and stepped under the spray of water before it got fully warm. Akaashi shivered for a few moments—regret _regret regret_ —until it got warm and he relaxed, successfully not throwing up all over the place. Leaning against the wall, he let out a pitiful groan and turned his face up to let the water wash over him and dampen his hair.

Bokuto was leaning on the wall just outside the shower, watching him for signs that he might fall over again so he could catch him. “You gonna make it?”

Akaashi considered this. It was very possible. Last night, after they’d won, they’d stayed long enough at the club just to collect everyone, for Bokuto to accept the prize money, for Kuroo to jeer at Daishou, and then they left so they could truly celebrate back at the house with lots of alcohol and food bought on the way home. Not nearly enough food, considering Daichi (the least drunk of them all at the time) had to go out and get more at three in the morning.

Kuroo hadn’t been drinking, but he had been _egging on_ the others to drink by saying, “Hey, I can’t have this so you have to do this shot for me!”

All of them had obliged him.

Even Akaashi. When they’d gotten home Kuroo stepped up to him and, for a moment, Akaashi _thought_ he was going to get hit or something, but then Kuroo gave him a big hug and thanked him for joining their little family. Bokuto had tried to get in on their hug, too, but Kuroo and Akaashi had pushed him away because he hugged too hard and might pop one of Kuroo’s stitches.

And even though Akaashi had told Bokuto at the beginning of the night to not let him drink too much, he also distinctly remembered (after he’d gotten tipsy) telling Bokuto, “Fuck off—I’m an adult I’ll do what I want!” and Bokuto simply smiling at him and shaking his head in exasperation.

He won a round of cards with Noya and Tanaka, he and Alisa had, at one point, been just drunk enough that one of them had thought of a _ballet battle_ and had done ever complicated combinations until Akaashi tripped over his shoelaces and fell on his face. (He reached up and felt his head where there was still a big bump, but it wasn’t bleeding or anything.) Then he’d ripped his shoes off and shoved them in Bokuto’s arms, going on a long winded drunken rant about how dancing shouldn't be done in sneakers and it was dangerous ( _look! I almost broke my head!)_ and how he would only ever dance in flats again come Hell or high water so Bokuto could go and burn those shoes for all he cared. The shoes weren't burned, but everyone that heard his rant had a good laugh.

Akaashi groaned again, feeling latent embarrassment rising up to heat his face. “I told you not to let me get drunk.”

Bokuto smiled and shrugged sheepishly. “I tried for a while, and then when you stopped listening to me and I just tried to contain you and keep you from hurting yourself.”

Akaashi pointed at the bump on his head.

“I said I _tried_ ,” Bokuto said. He sighed, reaching in and touching the bump with nimble fingers. “It doesn't look bad but if the swelling doesn't go down we’ll go to the doctor.”

Akaashi nodded, which made the room spin and he pressed his eyes closed. After a moment Bokuto stroked his cheek and stepped away. “I'll go make you something for your stomach.”

When he was gone Akaashi leaned more fully under the spray of the water, bowing his head and closing his eyes to ground himself. Droplets rolled down his hair and over his face, catching on his eyelashes and off the tip of his nose. Whenever he sucked in a breath he swallowed water, but his body was so starved for fluid that he turned his face up to gulp more down. Methodically he washed himself, feeling better the more clean he felt. Afterwards, he dried himself and slipped down the hall to their bedroom to put on some pajama pants (all he could manage—his head was _pounding_ ) then made his way to the kitchen and perched on one of the stools, head on his arms. “I feel like death.”

Bokuto laughed softly in deference to his headache. “Here, drink this.”

Akaashi looked up and took the proffered mug and sipped the boiling hot green tea, humming with pleasure even though it hurt his throat. Then he sat up and picked up the bowl Bokuto pushed towards him. “What’s this?”

“Miso. Good for hangovers.”

Akaashi made a face. “What, you don’t want to do your ‘hair of the dog’ cure?”

Again, Bokuto laughed. “Not today. Just try it. I can also go out and get you some ramen later for lunch. Like the good stuff.”

Akaashi nodded, sipping the soup. It went down warm and well, filling his stomach but not making him feel like throwing up anymore. Since living with Bokuto he’d learned how many of the group, riotous drinkers on any occasion, dealt with hangovers. He hadn’t needed most of them, since he only rarely actually drank to try to keep up with them, but last night was a _celebration_ and the rules had gone out the window. Ramen was one of the favorite cures of the group, filling and delicious, cheap and chock-full of sodium and broth to help with dehydration. Several times Akaashi had gone with those suffering to their local ramen shop for lunch and hunkered down for an hour or more to eat.

“Hey,” Bokuto said, raising his voice a bit, “want some tea?”

Kenma came to the counter, looking over Akaashi with a little knowing smile. He said to Bokuto, “Sure, thanks,” while he pulled his wild, sleep tangled hair up into a clip until he had the time and energy to comb it. “You feeling okay?”

Akaashi shrugged, taking another swallow of soup. “I’ll feel better soon. It’s awfully quiet, is anyone else here?”

“Oh, yes,” Kenma said, accepting the tea Bokuto handed him. “Nearly everyone’s on futons and couches and cushions downstairs. I don’t know when they went to bed, but I had them turn the music down around five.”

“Gross,” Akaashi said, laughing. “When did we go to bed, Kou?”

Bokuto was digging through the fridge before he found one of his favorite canned coffees for the morning—too sweet for Akaashi’s taste, with lots of milk and sugar already in it and almost no actual coffee. But Bokuto liked them, so whenever Akaashi went to the store he bought them. “Oh… I dunno, three, three-thirty? Early enough.” He sipped his drink, leaning on the counter and rubbing his hand under his shirt.

Kenma said, “I’m sure whenever Kuro wakes up he’ll go downstairs and get them all up and make them clean before they go home.”

“Oh, Keiji, we better be gone before he does. He’ll be wicked grumpy.”

He finished his soup and pushed the bowl away. “We probably will be. We have to go to the airport today, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…” Bokuto sighed sadly, glancing towards the window, as if he could see the planes flying in the sky already.

Akaashi pointed to the medicine drawer and wordlessly Bokuto handed him an aspirin to chew to combat the headache even more. Akaashi didn’t want to feel bad when they arrived at the airport… he wanted to be able to be as cheerful as possible. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind last night, and he felt terrible about that now… but there was nothing he could do except to do his best now. “Soup’s good, Kou.”

Bokuto shrugged. “It was instant, sorry. Kenma do you want me to make you anything?”

Kenma’s disgruntled face said his true feelings. “No, I don’t want to put out fires at nine in the morning.”

Bokuto huffed. “I don’t set fires every time I cook.”

“Nine out of ten is close enough.” Kenma took his tea and turned, asking Akaashi, “Are you done in the bathroom?”

“Oh, sure. I won’t need it for an hour or two so I can get ready.”

“I’ll take a shower then.” He rolled his eyes. “Last time everyone stayed several of them wanted to shower and we ran out of hot water and I am _not_ taking another cold shower.”

Akaashi sighed softly, feeling a little better, but his eyes still felt swollen and stinging. “I think I’ll go lay down until then.”

“M’kay. I’ve got to figure out how to divvy up the money for everyone.” His face twisted in frustration. “God, I hate math. I’ll have to have Kenma double check my numbers later. Anyway, sorry, you go sleep.” He came around and kissed Akaashi, touching his cheek before Akaashi slipped away back to the bedroom to try and catch another few hours before an emotional, trying afternoon at the airport. He wasn’t looking forward to it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week is the final chapter! ヾ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ"


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, final chapter! :)  
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4U594CEwhkefoT4lImr1g7

_(Song Selection: Ashokan Farewell - various)_

Terminals had never been one of Akaashi’s favorite places… bus stations, train stations, airports… all of them had a sense of dreadful, infinite waiting and such a sense of urgency to _go go go_ that the contradicting feelings sometimes made him anxious. But he was here to support his friend, so he would put up with the butterflies and worms in his stomach.

On the bench opposite him and Bokuto, Suga and Oikawa sat holding hands, Suga leaning his head on Oikawa’s shoulder and listening with a small heartbroken smile on his face as Oikawa said something to him. Akaashi couldn’t quite hear what he said, but knew it was private anyway, so he just sat next to Bokuto and smiled at Suga whenever he looked up and caught his eye.

It was just past lunch time. Suga was waiting on his plane that would take him halfway across the world. Everyone knew his flight would be boarding soon, but no one wanted to say it aloud. Suga turned his head to whisper something back to Oikawa and they both laughed.

Bokuto said to him, “Do you think we look that much in love?”

Akaashi looked up at him, found his face closer than he’d thought, and smiled. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Do you think… he’ll be okay?” Bokuto lowered his voice, glancing at the other two.

“…I don’t know,” Akaashi repeated. He wasn’t sure who Bokuto was talking about—Suga or Oikawa—but either way, they would both be hurting for a long time. Even though technology was an amazing thing and they could talk every day it wouldn’t be the same. Akaashi hoped it didn’t break them. He loved his friends and knew that they were both happier with the other. “We can only hope.”

There was a _dong_ of the announcement overhead and they all turned their heads to listen as Suga’s flight number was called for boarding. No one moved for a long moment. Then Suga sighed and stood, stretching his back a little. “Sooner than I thought, honestly…”

Akaashi stood and they embraced, holding tight. Akaashi felt himself on the verge of tears but pressed them down hard. He could feel Suga trembling. “Go follow your dreams, Koushi. I’m just a phone call away. If you need to talk.”

Suga’s voice cracked when he spoke, “Thank you…”

“I love you.” Akaashi squeezed him harder for a moment before Suga pulled away, swiping the back of his hand over his face.

He held his arms out and Bokuto gave him a hug too, picking him up and squeezing him until Suga burst out laughing, kicking his feet helplessly in the air. “Put me down!” he shrieked, giggling, then puffing out a fake frustrated breath when Bokuto set him on his feet. “You make sure my stupid best friend doesn’t over work himself, ok?”

Bokuto grinned, knocking knuckles with him. “You got it.”

Suga turned to Oikawa, whose red rimmed eyes showed how much he’d cried and lost sleep over this moment already. He stood and pulled Suga into a tight hug, both of them holding each other and whispering sweet things to one another. Akaashi looked away, embarrassed and wanting to comfort the both of them but unsure how.

Reaching down, Bokuto took his hand and squeezed. Akaashi squeezed back, not knowing what else to do.

When they parted Suga picked up his backpack and moved away, handing his ticket to the flight attendant and pausing only a moment in the doorway of the little connection hallway to the plane to turn and wave at them. He was smiling, but a steady stream of tears fell down his face. Then he was gone.

Akaashi’s heart clenched suddenly, wanting to run to him and drag him back. What was he going to do without his best friend? Who would he get coffee with? Who would he dance with? Who would he gossip with and trade recipes with that they both knew they’d never actually make? Who would remind him to clean the kitchen? Who would—

Bokuto squeezed his hand again and Akaashi’s head snapped up, the tears suddenly pouring from his eyes. Sighing, Bokuto took his hand back and put an arm around him, pulling him against his chest in a hug to hold him together. Oikawa stepped back and sat down hard on the bench, watching the plane through the large window. He let out a shaky breath and pressed his fingers to his eyes, shaking his head to himself.

“Damn it,” he whispered to the ground.

After a moment Akaashi pulled away and sat beside him, Bokuto sat on the other side, and they both put their arms around Oikawa and let him cry while they held him. He buried his face in his hands and leaned over, shoulders shaking, and Akaashi kept whispering, “Breathe, Tooru, breathe.”

Then, suddenly, Oikawa sat up, sniffling, and dug his phone from his pocket. Akaashi watched as he sent a hurried message to Suga: _don’t forget your promise. and text me when you land!!_ He then stood and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Hungry?”

Bokuto and Akaashi exchanged curious, slightly nervous glances. “Sure,” Akaashi said, standing beside him. “Anywhere you want to go?”

They began the long walk across the airport towards Oikawa’s car. “Not really.”

Bokuto said, “What about that barbecue place that we passed coming in?”

“That’s fine.” Oikawa walked with his head down, hands in his pockets, clearly upset. Who wouldn’t be?

Akaashi’s phone buzzed and he took it out as they walked and smiled when he saw it was from Suga.

_please take care of him. i know he won’t ask but he’ll need a friend. or two. or three. he’s gotten close to kenma. maybe try and get them together sometimes_

_of course_ , Akaashi texted back. _we’re going to get food now._ He was insanely curious about whatever promise Oikawa had mentioned, but if Suga hadn’t already told him it wasn’t any of his business.

_thx keiji. ur the best! i feel better leaving knowing that you’re there to make sure dummy doesn’t get too sad_

Akaashi glanced at Oikawa, not really knowing if he could help that much. Oikawa would be sad no matter what he did. _i’ll do my best. idc what time it is when you land you text me too, ok?_

_yup! will do. gonna be ass-early in the morning for you. i think smth lk 20hr trip w/layover_

_dont care. wanna know you’re safe_

_m’kay. kissy face. gotta go. think we r taking off now_

Suga never actually used emoji, instead opted for typing them out. Akaashi smiled at it and took a deep breath, feeling like maybe he’d forgotten to really breathe since he’d woken up that morning. He glanced over, noticing that Bokuto had struck up a conversation with a foreigner that was walking the same way as them, explaining in slow, simple words about the hotels around them and the restaurants he could remember off the top of his head. The girl looked wide eyed and excited as she nodded, but Akaashi couldn’t tell if she actually understood a word Bokuto said or not.

At the car Oikawa pulled his keys from his pocket but Bokuto reached over and laid a hand on his, gently taking them from him.

“I’ll drive.”

Akaashi glanced in the car and said with relief, “Oh thank god it’s not a stick.”

Bokuto squinted at him. “What?”

“You suck at driving stick.”

“I do _not_! Clarence is a manual.”

“And you suck at driving him.”

Oikawa let out a surprised laugh, and rubbed his face again. His smile seemed to come a little easier, even though the cracks of his heart were written in the lines of his face. He dropped himself into the passenger seat and Akaashi slid into the back, leaning forward over the middle console as Bokuto sank in the driver's seat.

“Know what.” Bokuto was saying, “You suck at driving too.”

“I’m a safe driver,” Akaashi told him. He smiled when he saw Oikawa’s lip twitch, even as he tried to hide his smile behind his hand.

Bokuto backed out of the parking space so fast Akaashi nearly toppled into the front seat. “You’re a _boring_ driver.”

“Please don’t wreck my car,” Oikawa said, suddenly wide eyed and clinging to the door as Bokuto took off down the lane.

Akaashi threw himself back to click into a seatbelt. “He hasn’t wrecked anything… but you might want to get your brakes replaced when we’re done.”

“Oh, god.”

“Shut up, Keiji!”

They all laughed, then screamed when Bokuto took a turn much too fast and nearly hit a pedestrian. “Sorry!” he screamed out the window. “Okay, so, barbecue? Right, right. Where was that?”

Oikawa turned to look over his shoulder, eyes wide but alive with amusement. “The other way.”

There was silence for a long moment while Bokuto pondered this. Then, suddenly he screamed, “U-turn!” and jerked the wheel, careening over six lanes of traffic and getting honked at by every driver on the road. Oikawa shouted in terror, covering his face with his hands. Tears fell down his face, but he was laughing even as his chest hitched with sobs. Akaashi reached forward and Oikawa took his hand, tight, holding on as he looked out the window, his eyes following the plane that rose steadily into the sky.

                           

* * *

                                                   

_(Song Selection: If the Walls Move - The Gray Havens)_

Akaashi stood in the wings sitting on a big crate while he painted Bokuto’s palms and fingers with thick gold paint. Bokuto was looking out over the empty stage at the assembled crowd, his fingers twitching. Akaashi could see the pounding of his heart in his throat and a bead of sweat roll from his hairline down the back of his neck.

“Kou?”

“Mhm?”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi said again, dropping the paintbrush in the little paint can beside him, “it’s alright. Just breathe, ok?”

Bokuto nodded, but Akaashi could hear him swallow audibly. “I don’t want to mess up.”

“You won’t.” Akaashi picked up another can of paint, blue this time, one of his favorite shades. He began to dip his fingers in to coat his palm. “We’ve been practicing forever. You know how to do this. You’re good at it. We can do this together.”

Even before the crew’s competition Bokuto and Akaashi had spent weeks in the studio together coming up with a routine for the audition. Akaashi did most of the choreography but every now and then, after fidgeting and nervously asking _do you think this would work?_ Bokuto would tell Akaashi an idea he had, or something he thought would look interesting and Akaashi would try to work it into the dance.They would lay in the floor for hours just listening to music and watching videos of dancers and contemporary routines online, trying to think of something unique that could capture the interest of the scouts. Akaashi would set up his phone to film them once they had most of it choreographed and they would watch it together, critiquing themselves and trying to make it look as good as possible from an outsider's perspective. Akaashi would send clips to Suga for critique, and sometimes, if the time worked out so that Suga wasn’t busy or sleeping, they’d call and talk for an hour or two about the things Suga was working on, about the audition, Oikawa, the crew, the other dancers in the studio. Akaashi found that even though they were a world apart their friendship was as close as ever, unable to be severed by distance.

Bokuto had even taken a bunch of ballet classes with him—sometimes privately so he wouldn’t disturb the real classes—and sometimes just sitting in to watch. Sometimes Akaashi would have Bokuto do barre with them, which he _hated_ because _pliés_ had become the bane of Bokuto’s existence. Akaashi and the other dancers tried to teach him to move like _they did_. Not necessarily the technique, because Akaashi rather liked the raw energy and power that he had when he danced, and thought that trying to contain that would ruin it; but they tried to add a fluid, graceful quality to his motions, a certain thoughtfulness to the steps that he hadn’t had before.

“I just…” Bokuto was saying, looking down at his paint covered hands, “want this to … be good for you.”

Akaashi had finished painting his hands, so he reached up and brushed the back of his knuckle over Bokuto’s cheek. “It’ll be great as long as we do it _together_. I can’t do it without you. We made this piece together and it’s _ours._ We’re the only ones that can do it. Okay?” He smiled, then stood on his toes to kiss him.

“Okay,” Bokuto said, this time with more fervor. He nodded to himself, psyching himself up.

“Besides,” Akaashi touched the back of his hand to Bokuto’s bare chest, “if you can impress hundreds of people in the contest, a crowd of rowdy strangers… surely you can impress five stuffy choreographers.”

He liked the outfits they’d chosen, partially inspired by Suga’s outfit. They both wore plain white, but Akaashi wore only a long sleeved leotard, and Bokuto long, thick pants. Akaashi had tried to get him to wear tights… but when he’d put them on Bokuto had complained about _certain parts of his anatomy_ that showed too much, even though Akaashi had him wear all the appropriate undergarments. So pants it was, soft and flowing and looking like he belonged on a beach somewhere with the surf behind him and the wind whipping up around his ankles. They were opposites, because Bokuto said he liked the look of Akaashi’s long, bare legs and Akaashi said Bokuto’s muscles were too pretty to hide behind clothing (he’d said it only half joking, but Bokuto had puffed up with pride, a peacock strutting around the rest of the day with his shirt off). 

Grinning, Bokuto hugged his arms around Akaashi’s neck, both of them being careful to not smear any paint prematurely. Akaashi pressed his face to Bokuto’s shoulder, smiling because he was happy. For once he wasn’t _nervous_ before an audition or performance. He was excited to share with the world what they’d been working on. Bokuto looked down at him and said, “Good lu—”

Akaashi jerked himself away and shut him up with a sharply hissed, “Shh!”

Bokuto blinked at him, stunned and zipping his mouth closed in horror. “What?”

“You can’t say that on a stage,” Akaashi told him, glancing around because several other dancers had whipped around with horrified looks on their faces.

“What do you say then?” Bokuto asked, cocking his head, looking concerned.

“Here we say _merde_ for luck.”

“What’s that mean?”

Akaashi thought a moment, because he always forgot that the word _merde_ actually meant _shit_ in French. “Well technically it means _shit,_ ” he said, giggling at Bokuto’s horrified face. “It comes from early Opéra performances in Paris, back when they still used horse drawn carriages. So… I think it was like, since horses poop a lot? And if there was a lot of shit on the ground that meant a lot of people came, so the house would be packed. So that’s what dancers would say to each other, telling them there was a full audience. It evolved somehow to mean… _that phrase_.”

Bokuto stared at him, face scrunched up as he thought this over. “Huh.”

Their number was announced and Akaashi pulled away. “Come on, let’s just do what we always do. Try not to get paint in my eye.”

Bokuto nodded, laughing suddenly and hopping a little on his toes. They walked through the small crowd of the group assembled in the wings, other dancers waiting their turn, and out onto the broad expanse of the empty stage. The spotlights were warm and bright, the polite applause from the crowded theater sounded far away and echoing. Except for one person screaming: “ _Yeah—woo!—you can do it!_ ”

Akaashi laughed and glanced back at Bokuto, “Noya’s here.”

“Little turd. I hope Kuroo smacks him. I told them to behave…” He sighed, then stopped when Akaashi pointed to a space on the floor.

“See those white pieces of tape? That’s like the sections in the hardwood at the studio. They’re almost the same length, so you can use those to know where you are in relation to the spotlights and stuff.”

“Got it,” Bokuto said, looking down and wiggling his toes on the soft mat of the stage.

Akaashi smiled, walking to the other side of the stage to get into position. He’d always loved the way he felt on stage: simultaneously larger than life—center of the world—a bubble of joy in his belly; and very, very small. Miniscule. Swallowed up as he stared out at the darkened audience, blinded by the lights. His fingers were cold, tingling, numb crawling up his arms even as adrenaline and excitement rushed from his chest. His heart thumped—infinite in the silence just before their music started—several long beats where all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. He bowed his head, letting out a breath as their music began.

He didn’t have to see Bokuto to know he would be walking across the stage towards him, as if seeing Akaashi for the first time. He felt Bokuto’s presence behind him, and actually shivered with how close he was. Something about Bokuto when he was _really_ giving his all was different than when they were in the studio. The entire mood shifted. Bokuto’s arm came around him and his knuckle traced the curve of Akaashi’s jaw, tiling his face up. Then he pressed his hand to Akaashi’s cheek, the gold paint sticking to his skin as Akaashi came to life, pushing him away—his own blue hand print smearing across Bokuto’s arm. The dance wasn’t very long, just over a minute and a half, but it was like a river, slow and steady and fluid. The story of the piece was about two separate beings, wholly different, coming together as one. It wasn’t a hard concept for Akaashi to choreograph, considering it was what his life had been like for the past year and a half.

Ever since he’d started partner dancing Akaashi had been a little jealous of the girls who got to be beautiful and graceful while showing off their strength and flexibility. It wasn’t that Akaashi didn’t _like_ being the pillar of strength that allowed them to show off, he and everyone in the audience knew that if he wasn’t there then she wouldn’t be able to do it so, in a way, he was appreciated too. But still… now Akaashi had Bokuto to help him fulfill his dream. Bokuto wasn’t flexible—at all—but what he was was _strong._ He was able to effortlessly lift Akaashi over his head with one hand while Akaashi did a full split, then swung through to an arching _attitude_ that made the crowd _gasp_ in shock (and a few shouts from the corner of the theater where Akaashi thought the crew was watching). Bokuto tossed him into the air and caught him when he landed, effortlessly setting him back on his feet as they moved into a side-by-side combination of the same steps, performed slightly differently based on their styles.

Bokuto had learned how to do impressive, powerful looking jumps and had done them across the stage and after a beat where they simply took a moment of stillness to look at one another they moved towards each other like those old, clichéd tropes that Akaashi cried over _every time_ and, instead of doing the big lift they’d planned… Akaashi simply threw himself at Bokuto, wrapping him in a hug and letting Bokuto spin him around and press his face into his hair.

The music faded, and when they parted paint was spread across their bodies, sometimes in a solid, single handprint, and sometimes a long streak of color that popped against the white of their clothes. Before he could step away Bokuto took Akaashi’s face in his hands and kissed him, making him giggle and laugh at the feel of the paint on his face. They took quick bows to a buoyant and loud burst of applause then Akaashi took Bokuto by the hand and pulled him off the stage.

One of the guys waiting reached out and patted Akaashi’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen—that was awesome!”

Akaashi laughed, pushing Bokuto ahead of him so they could get out of the wings and out of the way, and also so they wouldn’t get anyone else dirty with paint. He picked up the cans he’d used as he thanked the man and wished him luck (appropriately, with _merde_ ) before he and Bokuto slipped back to the dressing area. Akaashi had no problem changing in front of a hundred other dancers, but he paused in pulling his arms from the leotard. “Dammit,” he muttered, pushing it off to his waist. “Hey, Kou, wait, we have to go wash the paint off. It’ll stain our clothes.”

Bokuto was just about to pick up his jeans, and pulled his hands away sharply. “Those are my favorite!”

Akaashi laughed, picking up his bag and then handing Bokuto a towel so he could bundle up his clothes for safe traveling. “That’s why I told you. Come on, there’s a bathroom on the lower floor.” Together they made their way down the winding staircase and through the crowd, trying to warn people so they wouldn’t get paint on them, and found the small, cramped bathroom. Before Akaashi could turn on the water though, Bokuto closed the door and pressed him against it, sliding his hands over Akaashi’s hips and kissing him so suddenly and thoroughly that Akaashi’s knees gave out a little. He held on to Bokuto, though, and Bokuto picked him up so Akaashi wrapped his legs around his waist.

“You,” Bokuto said against his mouth, his fingers spreading on Akaashi’s thighs and squeezing. “You—God. So beautiful. I almost forgot the dance when I was watching you.”

Akaashi smiled, brushing their noses together and giggling when paint smeared there too. “You didn’t, though. You were amazing. I’m sorry I messed up the last—”

“You didn’t. You were perfect.” Bokuto dropped his head to kiss along Akaashi’s throat and shoulder.

Akaashi spread his hands over Bokuto’s shoulders, trying not to squirm as Bokuto grazed his teeth over his collarbone. “ _Kou…_ we—people are waiting on us…”

“Shh, they can wait.” Bokuto smiled against his skin, slipping his fingers up under the fabric of Akaashi’s leotard. “Goddammit, I like _looking_ at these clothes but fuck I hate trying to get them off you.”

Akaashi laughed, and was about to tell him to let go and he’d strip himself when there was a loud banging on the door he was leaning on. They were both quiet, pretending they weren’t in there, while Bokuto touched his forehead to Akaashi’s and tried to keep his breathless laughter contained with kisses.

It wasn’t but a few moments when the banging came again. “Bo! I know you’re in there. Some girl saw you go in and there’s paint on the door. Hurry up, everyone’s waiting and Kenma’s trying to find a restaurant for us to go eat at.”

Bokuto groaned softly, and rocked his hips into Akaashi’s, making Akaashi gasp and whine and a shiver steal through him. “I dunno, Kuroo, this is a lot of paint to get off.”

After a pause Kuroo said, “This is a public place—do not—Bokuto! God.” He sounded flustered. “Akaashi, you have more sense than him. Come on! If you’re not out in ten minutes I’m coming back.” Then they heard the sound of his footsteps receding.

Akaashi laughed softly, his arms still looped around Bokuto’s neck. “He’s right. And… y’know, I’m hungry.”

Bokuto raised an eyebrow at him, trying to both be seductive and pout at the same time, which only made Akaashi laugh harder. He pushed Bokuto back and dropped down, leaning over to turn on the water so it could warm up.

“Later,” he promised, swatting at Bokuto trying to cup his ass. “When we get home. We’ll have to shower, anyway.”

“I like that idea,” Bokuto said, slipping behind him and leaning over him to kiss his shoulder.

After wetting one of the washcloths they’d brought Akaashi said, “Here, clean up,” and tossed it over his shoulder—laughing when it smacked Bokuto in the face and he let out an aggravated: “ _Ack_!”

It took more than ten minutes to wash off and change but by the time they made it to the lobby the rest of the crew was waiting for them, even Oikawa and the other ballet dancers had come to watch. Akaashi hadn’t known that, and knew he was grinning like an idiot when he saw them all. They all came up to hug him and tell them what a wonderful performance it was. They crowded the lobby with their loudness, especially the crew, who were always loud, even when they tried to be quiet, until Akaashi ushered them outside so they wouldn’t disturb the next set of auditions that were sure to be starting.

Kenma said to him, because he wouldn’t raise his voice to be heard by the whole group, “It was hard, but I think I found a place that can accommodate all of us.” His eyes flicked around. “There’s twenty of us, right?”

Bokuto raised his chin, counting quickly under his breath. “Yeah. Damn, we multiply fast.”

Akaashi leaned into him, smiling, nearly overwhelmed with the amount of sheer _joy_ he felt in that moment. “We’ve got a big family. That’s never a bad thing.”

Kenma glanced up at him, smiled, then ducked his head to his phone. “I’ll confirm the reservation, then. I think Kuroo wants to do some sort of big celebratory toast thing so don’t get embarrassed when he stands on a table.”

Bokuto dropped an arm over Akaashi’s shoulders and hugged him close. “I’ll laugh when he falls _off_ the table.”

Even Kenma snickered at that. “God, me too.”

                           

* * *

                                                   

_(Song Selection: Till Your Heart is Still - Vian Izak)_

Bokuto and Akaashi’s bed was a messy tangle of sheets. Two big, fat comforters, a thin sheet, and Akaashi’s favorite crochet afghan he’d won in a raffle one time when he was still in high school. It was huge and heavy, made with bulky rainbow yarn and was really too warm for the summer, and nearly too warm for the autumn with the other blankets, but it made him feel safe and the weight of it helped hold him down and sleep when all his muscles hurt from overuse and he just wanted to toss and turn. Akaashi liked coming to consciousness under all of these blankets as a little pocket of warmth, and would lay in bliss until Bokuto or his phone alarm woke him.

On the other hand, Bokuto did _not_ like all these blankets (but he loved Akaashi so he tolerated the extra fabric with little complaint other than the occasional ‘ _ick get off me you beast!_ ’ comment in the middle of the night as one of the corners fell on him). The sheet was his and it’s all he ever wanted or needed as nocturnal coverage. More than once Akaashi had woken up in the middle of the night to find him kicking away even that, and would stare at him from under his mound of blankets until Bokuto was completely naked and flopping over to find the cool spot on the pillow.

One morning Bokuto woke early and leaned over, sticking his hand down into Akaashi’s blanket burrito and finding his skin so he could slide his fingers along it. When Akaashi didn’t protest this action, Bokuto snuggled deeper into the blankets until they were pressed skin to skin. Bokuto was his own furnace and radiated heat, but Akaashi didn’t mind and sighed happily when Bokuto ran a hand over his back, spreading warmth wherever he touched.

Humming, squirming closer, Akaashi stuck his face under Bokuto’s arm and grinned when he found it was even warmer than his hand. Sometimes he wondered if he’d become _too_ domesticated … but then he remembered that _domesticated_ and _happy_ were synonymous with one another in his experience and thought that if this was domesticity then it was absolutely worth it.

“Morning,” Bokuto said as he tucked the blankets up over their heads to hold in the warmth because he knew Akaashi liked it.

Akaashi slipped his arms around Bokuto’s chest, rubbing his face over the soft skin on the underside of his arm. So much muscle and still so soft… “Mhm-hmm.”

Bokuto settled down for the few minutes of silence they shared every morning. He stroked his hand over Akaashi’s back, his nose nuzzled into Akaashi’s hair, the both of them simply enjoying the other and their secret, shared moments that were only ever theirs.

Then the spell was broken as there was a soft knock on the door. Bokuto poked his head out of the blankets and called, “Yeah?”

Akaashi heard the door open and Kuroo say, “Lucky day. Kenma’s making breakfast.”

Bokuto perked up. Kenma’s egg making skills were legendary. “No shit?”

“No shit,” Kuroo confirmed. “He says it’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

The door closed and Bokuto was back under the blankets, wiggling down so he could touch his nose to Akaashi’s with a smile. “Kenma’s making breakfast!”

Akaashi blinked at him, still in the fog of sleep. “I heard.”

“Want me to go make your coffee?”

He didn’t reply, but Bokuto knew the answer already after months of cohabitation, so he cupped Akaashi’s chin in his fingers and pulled his face up for a quick kiss. He excavated himself from the pile of blankets and climbed out of bed to begin brewing Akaashi’s _personality juice,_ as he sometimes jokingly called it. Akaashi stretched and rolled around, letting all his bones shift and move into place after a long night of sleep. After he’d laid there for several minutes he sat up, shucking blankets like extra layers of skin, until he shivered in the morning chill of the house. His phone buzzed and he reached for it as he yawned and scrubbed a hand through his hair, already thinking that he’d need to take a shower before going to the studio. He had at least an hour before he needed to get ready to leave, so he wasn’t worried about—

An email. From a choreographer he recognized. The man had been at the audition! He fumbled his phone while he tried to tap on the email, then waited with bated breath for it to load. Even when it _did load_ he wasn’t sure he breathed at all while reading it. After a cursory greeting and praise of his and his partner's performance at the audition last month the man went on to say that he was planning a full production on _different forms of love_. He had been impressed with their piece at the audition, and would be honored (‘honored?’ Akaashi thought, ‘what a thing to say.’) if Akaashi and his partner would consider performing their piece in his production. It would be a few months of practices and auditions before they would go on _tour_ around Japan (which would be about a year, if the choreographer secured all the dates he wanted), and that they could even perform the same piece they did for the audition, if they wanted to—with some suggestions and tweaks from the choreographer, of course. Also, if Akaashi would please get the information for his partner sent in so he could contact him that would be ideal. And, if accepted, they could negotiate salary and expenses at a later date once more things were set in stone.

He read it through again, his brain needing a moment to catch up to what his eyes were seeing. Then he leapt from the bed—tripped over the blankets and almost face planted—righted himself—and barreled out of the room shouting, “Koutarou!” and waving his phone about. He was in his underwear but he didn’t care, and tore through the house towards the kitchen. He saw Bokuto at the kitchen counter, coffee cup in hand, and raced towards him.

Bokuto blinked at the sudden burst of energy and let out a surprised cry of, “Wait, wait!” before he realized that Akaashi _couldn’t_ or _wouldn’t_ wait and he hurriedly dropped the cup on the counter to catch Akaashi as he jumped into Bokuto’s arms. “What’s gotten—”

“Look!” Akaashi couldn’t help how loud he was being, how crazy he was acting. He couldn’t _believe it_.

He shoved his phone in Bokuto’s face so close his eyes crossed as he tried to look at it. “It’s your phone?”

“Goddammit,” Akaashi muttered, carefully disentangling his legs so that Bokuto set him down. He tapped the phone to life and brought up the email again, then handed it to him to read. He waited, bouncing up and down on his toes, too excited to stand still.

At the other end of the counter he saw Kuroo staring at them with a piece of omelette halfway to his mouth, and Kenma glancing at the coffee cup, seemingly relieved that it hadn’t met its demise. He was at the stove folding another omelette and barely gave Akaashi a once over as he stood almost naked in their kitchen. “What’s going on?” Kuroo asked, squinting at them.

Bokuto was reading the email—trying to keep his face neutral and failing. Akaashi could tell where he was in the email by the way his face looked: at first distraught, thinking that Akaashi was going to leave him, then trying to hide it to support him, confused as he got to the part about _partners_ , then stunned and still confused. “Wait,” he said, “what? Both of us? But I wasn’t even—”

“But he liked us!” Akaashi nearly shouted. He paused to take a breath and continued, “It’s a _job_! It’s a way for me to follow my dream of traveling and dancing _plus_ we wouldn’t have to be apart. You could save up the money from it for school! It’s only a year so afterwards I can go back to the studio and teach and you can go to school! It’s _perfect_!”

Bokuto cast a quick glance towards Kuroo before saying, “A whole year?”

The excitement from the email was beginning to ebb as Bokuto looked even more worried. “Yes,” Akaashi told him, trying to impart just how good this would be for them. “That’s not really that long. Our names would get in programs and magazines and stuff—maybe. Maybe this is the start of _careers_. Or…” He shrugged, and realized that it didn’t _really_ matter to him if he only got this one opportunity to be in a show after this. Yeah, it would be great, but if it meant having to be apart it might just be too hard. A day or two? A week? Sure, maybe, whatever. Any longer and Akaashi thought that it would have detrimental effects on his mentality to be away from Bokuto and his life for long.

Bokuto was reading the email again. “I—… we could talk to the guy first?” He sighed, handing the phone back. “I mean, of course, if that’s what you want to do. I’ll do it with you.” He glanced at Kuroo again, then dropped his eyes.

Akaashi understood suddenly—they both would be leaving the house and the crew for a whole year if they did this. He sighed, tapping his nail on the black screen of his phone. “I mean… only if _you_ want to. I—I totally understand if you don’t, or if you can’t. It’s okay. I can tell him that you don’t want to and I’m sure there’s other things I can do. He’s a choreographer, after all. I bet there are other dancers I can partner with—”

“No!” Bokuto said sharply, huffing. “I don’t—you’re _my_ —” He stopped himself, biting down on his lip in frustration.

“Kou,” Akaashi laid a hand on his arm, “we’ll talk about it, ok? We don’t have to make a decision right this minute.”

Kuroo snorted a laugh. “Oh, please.” They both stared at him so he said, “Look, just do it. It’s a year of making some money, you get to travel, and you get to perform.”

Bokuto looked a little shaken. “But I don’t want to leave you, either.”

“We’ll be _fine_ without you for a little while. Hell, maybe we’ll be even better when you get—” but he didn’t finish the teasing line when he saw that it actually hurt Bokuto’s feelings. “Okay, still, it’s a great opportunity. You should go. Both of you.”

The two stared at each other, years passing between them, something Akaashi didn’t understand happened and Bokuto laughed a sharp, high laugh. “Fine.” He looked to Akaashi, eyebrows raised. “So, you think you can talk to the guy for me? You know more about this stuff than I do.”

Akaashi was about to say that of course he would, and that he’d do his best to get them good contracts, when Kenma set another plate on the counter and said, “Eat, first. Cold omelettes aren’t good.”

“Mine!” Bokuto shouted as he and Akaashi traded a hurried glance and both lunged for the plate at the same time. Bokuto won… but handed the plate over anyway and pointed to the abandoned coffee mug. “There’s your drug of choice.”

“Thank you,” Akaashi said, kissing his cheek and then hopping onto a stool beside Kuroo. The omelette was even more heavenly than he thought it would be and he moaned as he took a second bite. “This is amazing.”

Kenma smiled at him, already preparing another one for Bokuto, who stood ravenous and drooling behind him. “Glad you like it. Oh, Kuroo, can you take me to campus? I’ve got an appointment with an advisor to see about enrolling next semester.”

“Of course,” Kuroo said, smiling. “Oikawa really did put in a good word for you, then?”

“I got in on my own merit, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure a word from one of their top students didn’t hurt.”

Kenma shot him an aggravated glare and Kuroo laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. Kenma continued to glare for a moment before turning and flipping out the last omelette onto a plate with the other things he’d made for breakfast and passing it to Bokuto. Then he trudged off, and Kuroo winced with each step as he watched him leave.

Bokuto hopped onto the stool beside Akaashi—then got off and moved the stool closer so they would be touching when he sat down again. “I think you made him mad, bro.”

“I know that,” Kuroo snapped. He scraped the last of his food into his mouth. “I was only joking…”

Akaashi said, “I think he’s really proud of getting into that school. It’s really hard to get into, actually. To be honest, I don’t think admissions takes any recommendations from other _students_. He just wants you to be proud of him.”

“I _am_.”

Bokuto stuffed a huge bite into his mouth. “You tell him that?”

Kuroo leaned on his hand, frowning at the hallway. “Yeah, of course I did…”

“I think I know what it is,” Bokuto said, leaning forward to see around Akaashi better. “You’re upset that we’re all getting cool jobs and going to school and you’re not.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at him, his face darkening, and Bokuto blinked in surprise.

“Whoah, really? I was—”

“That _was_ in poor taste,” Akaashi muttered.

“Sorry, dude! You know I meant it, like, kidding.” Then, when Kuroo still looked upset he said, “Look, you always liked all the science-y shit. Why don’t you see what schools have classes for that?”

“What for?” Kuroo grumbled.

Akaashi said simply, “A career that doesn’t depend on your ability to win a contest once a year.”

They were quiet for a long moment while Kuroo thought through this truth. He sighed, pushing himself away from the counter and dumping his plate in the sink. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look.”

Bokuto beamed. “Look at us, almost thirty and finally behaving like adults!”

Akaashi said around his next mouthful, “You’re not anywhere near thirty.”

“I’m twenty-five!”

“That’s also _not_ thirty.”

Kuroo shook his head, waving his hand to dismiss them. “Know what? Maybe I’ll enjoy some peace and quiet once you guys are gone,” he said before going back to his room, probably to apologize and beg forgiveness from Kenma.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, both enjoying Kenma’s cooking skills that he so rarely shared with them. After a while Bokuto said thoughtfully, “You think that dance thing is a good idea, then?”

Akaashi took a moment to consider. It might not be exactly what he’d hoped for last year, or the year before. It wasn’t a _company_ , it was temporary, and it probably wouldn’t pay _that well_. But still, it was something. He hadn’t traveled more than a day’s car ride from his childhood home in his life, and the idea that he’d get to travel all over Japan was fascinating. _With_ Bokuto accompanying him? Even better. Plus he’d get to work with a famous choreographer, having his ideas heard and shared, and be able to perform something he’d created in front of thousands. It might not be exactly what he’d hoped for… but it seemed like exactly what he needed. On top of that, the thought of coming _home_ after it was over and going back to the studio didn’t hurt him the way it used to… or at all, really. That, at least, was steady, just like Bokuto and the others he’d made his family. He loved the idea of spending every day with them, with Bokuto, of passing on his love of dance to a new generation. He turned to Bokuto, smiling. “I think… that no matter what we do, as long as we do it together, I’ll be happy.”

Bokuto smiled back at him. “Then I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go, Keiji.” He took a bite, chewed for a moment, then groaned. “Ah, fuck, does that mean I’m going to have to take more ballet classes?”

Akaashi nearly fell off his stool in surprise as he laughed. “God, I love you.”

“You love torturing me.”

“Maybe, but you were getting better at _pliés_. I’d hate for you to lose all your hard earned progress.”

Bokuto reached over and snatched the last bite of omelette from Akaashi’s plate, smirking when Akaashi gasped with betrayal. “If I’m gonna do more goddamn _stretches_ I’m going to need a hell of a lot more calories!”

_(révérence)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(révérence) - a bow or curtsy at the end of ballet class or performance to acknowledge and pay respect to the teacher/accompanist/crowd._
> 
> And that's it! Thank you all for coming on this journey with me, I hope you enjoyed it. :) Thank you all for your support along the way!


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